


The Phantom of the Musical

by storm_aurora



Series: The Phantom of the Musical [1]
Category: Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber, Pocket Monsters SPECIAL | Pokemon Adventures
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, F/M, It's kinda like the world of Spe with the plot of Phantom, Substitution
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-30
Updated: 2019-04-06
Packaged: 2019-05-16 00:33:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 74,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14800917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storm_aurora/pseuds/storm_aurora
Summary: Nimbasa City's Musical Theater is a thriving place where any people and Pokémon can participate in musicals and watch professionals perform them, too. In recent years, rumors have surfaced of a ghost who haunts the Theater's walls. But a series of changes in the management and talent at the Theater draw the ghost out of the shadows, involving him in the lives of the rising star Whitley Daaé and the young bureaucrat Blake of Chenonceau in ways that they never could have imagined.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Ah, it finally begins! This story has been a passion project of mine ever since I first saw Phantom over a year ago. The original idea that I brainstormed with a couple of friends who saw the show with me was simply "What if Phantom had Pokémon in it", which eventually became the story that I'm beginning to share with you today. This prologue, of course, is setting up the world more than the story, so it's not very Phantomy - that'll change _very_ quickly. But while the story itself is entirely complete, it still needs quite a bit of revisions, so it might take some time before I can start posting the rest of the story. For now, I'm posting the prologue so I can get a little feedback on how much people really want to read this thing. So without further ado...here it is.

“We finally made it to Nimbasa City, Black,” White beamed, “which means…it’s time to make the Pokémon Musical a reality!”

She bounced past the couch where Black was still fighting to shake out the last traces of haziness from his brain. “I prepared a surprise for you while you were sleeping,” she grinned, gesturing beside her with a flourish. “Ta-da!”

Black’s jaw dropped. White’s Tepig sat on the side table, but she wasn’t wearing her usual pink-striped bow. Instead, she was sporting a decorative yellow ribbon on her head, a small yellow barrette and a red barrette on her ears, a crimson-colored scarf around her neck, and a red parasol that she wrapped her tail around. “Th-that’s…” he stuttered, unable to put his disbelief that anyone would make their Pokémon wear such a thing into words.

“Wonderful, right?” White laughed, picking her up and spinning around with her. “Let’s make this a success, Gigi!” Black stared dumbly at them – he wasn’t used to his boss being this cheerful.

White put Gigi back down and walked over to the window, gesturing for Black to follow. “Come here, look at this!”

Black followed her to the window and gasped, pressing his hands against the glass. Just across the street from the hotel they were staying at was a huge circular building with giant stars and spotlights decorating the dome. Cursive neon letters just above the entrance and just below a giant Poké Ball decoration labeled the building “Musical”.

“Do you like it?” White asked. “It was just finished, you know.”

“They built it just for this!?” Black exclaimed.

“Sort of. The theater already existed, but the city paid for it to be renovated. And the whole external dome was added, too, to make it visually dissimilar to Big Stadium and Small Court. The mayor of Nimbasa City is really excited for the Pokémon Musical!” White grabbed his arm and dragged him away from the window. “We have to get going – there are lots of preparations that still need to be done before the big opening!”

Black and White quickly got dressed and headed across the street to the Musical Theater. They entered into a foyer that was far more chaotic than either of them were expecting. People were rushing about with props and pamphlets, calling for their assistants or coworkers or manager, complaining about the layout of the theater and how disorganized everything was. No one even noticed White and her employee coming in – except for a young girl with golden hair who was standing in the center of the foyer.

The girl tugged eagerly on the sleeve of the purple-haired woman next to her until she finally turned away from the people she was instructing to look at her. The girl pointed towards the two newcomers, and the woman looked in the direction she was pointing. She gave the girl a few grateful words and hurried over to them.

“Miss White?” the woman asked breathlessly.

“Yes, that’s me,” White replied. “But–”

“Oh, thank heavens!” She breathed a sigh of relief. “I’m so in need of help right now. My name is Iris Giry. You may know my husband, Miles, from the Nimbasa City Council. I have some experience in theatre, so the council appointed me to manage things until you arrived. But as you can see…” She gestured around vaguely. “It’s quite hectic this morning, and I’m having trouble managing it all on my own.”

“I’m happy to help!” White said with a smile. She glanced at the girl beside Iris. “And who’s this?”

“This is my daughter, Yuki,” Iris said, squeezing her hand. “She’s staying with me until she goes back to school for the fall term.”

Yuki straightened up a little, smiling proudly. They made a strange pair; with her pale skin and blonde hair, she looked at first glance to be the polar opposite of her mother. Yet in the shape of her face, the color of her eyes, and the set of her shoulders, she was unmistakably her mother’s daughter. She shook White’s hand, and then Black’s, and returned to her mother’s side.

“Now, I’ll ask you the same question,” Iris said, tilting her head towards Black. “Who’s this?”

“This is my employee, Black,” White explained.

Black shook Iris’s hand. “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

“Ooh, so polite,” Iris chuckled. “Always good to see that in a man.”

“Now then, shall we get to work?” White asked.

Iris nodded. “I hate to ask this of someone I’ve just met…but would you mind watching Yuki for me, Mr. Black?” she asked. “We have a lot of work to do, and I could really use someone to help her stay out of everyone’s way.”

“Sure thing,” Black said over Yuki’s protests. “I’ll see you later, Boss?”

“Yep,” she called over her shoulder, already heading away. “Excuse me! Could I have everyone’s attention, please…”

White managed to reign everyone into the auditorium, leaving Black and a disgruntled Yuki alone in the foyer. He didn’t have much experience babysitting, but he knew that getting to know the kid was always a good place to start. “Hey, Yuki,” Black said, putting a hand on her shoulder. She looked up at him, pouting. “Can you tell me a little bit about yourself?”

She quirked her lips, considering his request. “Okay,” she finally decided. She took a deep breath and launched into an impromptu speech. “My name is Yuki Giry and I’m ten years old and I go to the Aspertia City Trainer’s School and my best friend’s name is Whitley Daaé and my partner’s name is Wingull and my favorite hobbies are tennis and ballet–”

Black jumped in as soon as Yuki stopped for air. “That’s cool, Yuki. Can you show me around this place?”

She brightened even more. “Sure! Follow me!”

Yuki darted away from Black, and he scrambled after her. She led him to a room in the east corner of the lobby. Unlike the reds and pinks that decorated the floor and walls of the lobby, this room was filled with oranges and white – a white tile floor, pale orange walls, and several comfy-looking white couches with patterned orange pillows. There was a table in the center of the room with a bowl of Berries on it, and Yuki swiped one from the bowl before sprinting at and leaping onto one of the couches.

“This is my favorite room,” she said through a mouthful of Berry. “They call it the Trainer’s Lounge. It’ll be a place for Trainers to relax and chat between musicals, I guess. But since it’s not open to the public yet, I get it all to myself.”

“But I thought this building was only just finished?” Black asked, taking a seat on the edge of the couch.

“The _renovations_ just finished,” Yuki corrected him. “This building was a theater before, you know. They held musicals here, too – but those were musicals for people, not Pokémon. My mom was a dance instructor there.”

“What happened to it?”

Yuki shrugged. “It closed. My mom lost her job. She hadn’t been working until the city council gave her this position. It was always her dream to see the theater open again, but I don’t think she imagined it would be like this.”

Black furrowed his brow. “What do you mean by that?”

“It’s cool that there are performances again, but all the performers are Pokémon,” Yuki explained. “There’s no singing or dancing. Not for the people, anyways.”

“That must be rough,” Black said. “I can’t imagine what I would do if my dream didn’t come true the way I want it to.”

“What’s your dream, Mr. Black?” Yuki asked.

“My dream is to be the strongest Pokémon Trainer ever,” Black declared. “I’m going to get to the Pokémon League and become the Champion!”

“My dream is to become a ballerina,” Yuki said, sitting up. “Or maybe a pro tennis player…”

Black grinned and turned to face her. “Well, here’s to achieving our dreams!” He held his hand in the air, and she gave him a high five.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any and all feedback is greatly appreciated. <3


	2. Newbies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 11 years later...

The stunning soprano sang boisterously to the nonexistent audience, throwing her arms into the air as if gathering their praises and drawing them into herself. Each of her steps was pompously placed on the stage, jostling her hair, which dangled above the thin white shawl that covered her shoulders. She held her head just above relaxed position, but not so high that she couldn’t look down on the empty seats that stretched out in front of her.

Behind her, the chorus girls – or, as she preferred to call them, the background dancers – mimicked her movement around the stage, but with less exaggerated motions. Their magenta and black dresses had been chosen specifically to compliment the soprano’s pink and white dress. She had tried to get the blonde girl to wear a wig so her own hair would stand out more, but the girl’s mother refused and got her way only because she managed the ballet chorus.

Per the script, the scene that they were rehearsing included a pair of Audino to dance with the soprano, but the Audino in question were being borrowed for the afternoon by the Pokémon Musical team for a special demonstration show. She liked it that way, since those two Pokémon weren’t hogging her stage.

Backstage, the head of the Musical Theater watched the practice. Her arms were folded and she had a pensive expression on her face. “What’s on your mind, White?” asked the ballet manager, who was watching the practice next to her.

White didn’t react immediately. The ballet manager had to repeat her name a few times before she finally registered the question. “Oh! Sorry,” she said with a sigh. “There’s a producer from the Sinnoh region visiting today who’s creating a documentary on alternatives to battling for Pokémon Trainers, so we’re doing a special demonstration Musical for him. As the creator and head of the Pokémon Musical I ought to be there to help. But this show has to be ready for tonight…”

“Your team is quite capable,” she reassured White.

“I know you’re right, Iris,” White replied. “But I can’t let this overbooking problem happen again.” She glanced behind her and saw two men approaching them. “Perfect! Your timing is impeccable, gentlemen,” she told them.

“Who are these two?” Iris asked.

“The solution,” White said with a smile.

Iris observed with curiosity as White and the men began to converse. However, when it was clear that they weren’t going to be done talking anytime soon, Iris turned her attention back to the stage – she had a ballet chorus to manage.

Finally, White emerged from the wing with the two men in tow and waved to the conductor to stop the music.

“You’re doing fine, everyone,” she called. “But I have an announcement to make.”

The soprano’s arms fell. She seemed offended that anyone would dare interrupt her performance. Iris, the chorus girls, the conductor, the stagehands, and the tenor who had just made his entrance all gathered around White and the two men that they didn’t recognize.

“I’m sure you’ve all heard those ridiculous rumors about my retirement,” White began. “I’m twenty-five years old and I have a long work life ahead of me, people. But, I don’t intend to work myself to death. Between the Pokémon Musical, Musical Shows, Pokéstar Studios and my BW Agency, I don’t get a moment’s rest and I still don’t have time to do everything I need to do. So, I talked to the city council, and we’ve decided to hire these two gentlemen” – she gestured to the men beside her – “to manage the Musical Shows from now on. Please, introduce yourselves.”

“Sure!” exclaimed the shorter of the two men, who was a little bit on the chubby side. “My name is Diamond André. I’m 26 years old, a native of Sinnoh, and a culinary expert! I’ll be your artistic director from now on.”

“I’ll be taking care of the business side of things,” said the other man, a lanky guy whose blond hair was styled so that it curled up sharply on either side of his head. “My name is Pearl Firmin. I’m also from Sinnoh, and it’ll be a pleasure to work with you all.”

“As our first official act as managers, we’d like to introduce to you our new patron,” Diamond said. “He’s…um, made a donation, and…uh…”

Pearl jumped in to rescue his nervous partner. “He has made a generous donation to the Musical Theater for the purchase, construction, and repair of props and sets, and has promised to purchase a personal viewing box for many shows next season.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome…the Viscount of Chenonceau!” Diamond finished.

A young man in a navy-blue suit approached them from the wing, waving and flashing a beautiful white smile. His messy brown hair fell around his face in a handsome way, and his light-gray eyes sparkled with enthusiasm.

A couple of the chorus girls started whispering to each other, but Iris quickly shushed them so that the viscount could speak.

“My parents and I are honored to support the arts,” he said coolly, shaking White’s hand. “Especially those held in your world-renowned Musical Theater, Ms. Lefévre.” White’s eyes flashed in recognition, but she said nothing.

The soprano strode up to him and offered out her hand. He shook it politely, and she mirrored his smile. “Viscount,” White said reluctantly, “Lady Yvonne Gābena. Our leading soprano for the last nine seasons.”

This introduction was followed by a courteous but quick round of applause. Once it died down, White gestured towards a tall gentleman with straight black hair that nearly reached his shoulders. “Our conductor, Mr. Cheren Reyer.” Cheren bowed his head politely.

The tenor gave a polite cough. “Ah, and we mustn’t forget Leo Piangi,” White said, gesturing to the lanky black-haired boy beside Yvonne. He looked slightly ridiculous because of his costume, which required a pair of green foam monster legs that made his movements sluggish and awkward. “He’s one of our most talented tenors.”

“Good to meet you, sirs,” the viscount nodded to them. “But I believe I’m keeping you from your rehearsal. I look forward to this evening’s performance.”

“Yes, yes, thank you, sir,” Cheren said briskly. As White guided the viscount offstage, he continued, “Now, Mr. André, Mr. Firmin, you’ll need to acquaint yourselves with the script. Yvonne, please keep your chin down when you sing. I can hear you choking your voice when you hold it that high. Leo, your footsteps are too loud. I don’t need to hear exactly when you run onstage.”

Yvonne folded her arms crossly and Leo nodded obediently. The rest of the crew dispersed to their own jobs and the performers returned to their practice. Iris took the new managers upstage, where they could watch the chorus girls dance without interrupting their performance. “The ballet chorus, my pride and joy, sirs,” Iris said.

“They’re very good,” Diamond complimented. “You train them all, ma’am?”

“Skip the formalities, please,” Iris said. “A simple ‘Mrs. Giry’ will do. And indeed I do – I’ve been training some of these girls since they were children.”

“That little blonde girl is especially talented,” Diamond commented.

“My daughter, Yuki.”

“And that exceptional beauty!” Pearl butted in, pointing to another chorus girl. Two long strands of her dark brown hair followed her as she moved; the rest of it was held up in buns on either side of her head. “No relation, I trust?”

“Whitley Daaé,” Iris identified her. “She’s a very promising talent.”

“Daaé?” Diamond echoed. “Is she related to the famous violinist from Fiore?”

“Her only child. She was orphaned at twelve, and I brought her to live at the Theater and train in the ballet. She’s like a daughter to me.”

Iris brought the pair to the other side of the stage, where they watched the performers finish the routine. Once they were finished, Cheren, frowning, called to Yvonne. “Lady Gābena, you need to keep your steps light as well.”

Yvonne lifted a hand to her head in a dramatic flourish. “Chin down, arms up, feet light,” she moaned. “Will the maestro ever be satisfied?”

He rolled his eyes. “I will be satisfied when you can get it right,” he replied.

“When I can get it right!?” she repeated shrilly. “I–” She broke off when she noticed White and the viscount heading towards her and quickly spun around, storming off in a huff. “I will not put up with this – this _harassment_ any longer!” she shrieked.

“What a drama queen,” Pearl sighed. “Ms. Lefévre, calm her down, will you?”

“Ah, but isn’t that your job now?” White said, feigning surprise. She handed him the copy of the script that she had gone to get, then smirked and added, “Good luck, sirs. You’ll need it.”

The new show heads were taken aback by White’s response. She gestured towards the opposite side of the stage, where Yvonne was arguing with a blonde stagehand. Pearl and Diamond exchanged glances and quickly hurried over to her.

“Where are my assistants?” Yvonne demanded.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know,” the stagehand replied awkwardly. “Er, maybe they were taking care of Furfrou?”

“Well, fetch them!” Yvonne shouted. Pearl and Diamond stood awkwardly behind her. Finally, Diamond cleared his throat.

“Lady Gābena,” he said hesitantly. “Please, calm down, and we can talk about this.”

“What is there to talk about?” Yvonne cried. “I deserve respect, but these – these _beasts_ give me none! I cannot spend another day working for these ghastly people!”

“Don’t say that, Lady Gābena,” Pearl interjected. “We’ve just arrived. Give us some time to get things under control and see what you can do…”

“To see what I can do?” Yvonne snapped. “I’ll _show_ you what I can do. Maestro! The aria in Act III…” She paused and gave an exaggerated sigh, as if it was terribly inconvenient to add the extra word. “Please.”

Cheren sighed and began to conduct the orchestra. Yvonne began to sing the aria in a very operatic style, stretching every note and forcing the orchestra to play much slower than the recommended tempo for the song. He hated it, but he knew trying to correct her would just make her even more insufferable. She hardly listened to him in the first place.

Suddenly, screams from onstage caught his attention and he looked up from the music in time to watch one of the backdrops falling to the stage, just behind Yvonne. Cheren quickly stopped the musicians and made his way onstage as people clamored to check on Yvonne and speculated about what had just happened. “He’s here!” Yuki Giry’s voice rose above the others. “The Phantom of the Musical!” The viscount glanced at her in interest.

“Bianca!” Cheren called to the blonde stagehand, who had gone up to work in the rafters. “Bianca Buquet, what’s going on up there?”

“We didn’t do anything, Cheren!” Bianca protested. “Emerald and I weren’t anywhere near the backdrops, and there’s no one up here besides us. If there is, well…he must be a ghost!”

This provoked another round of murmuring from onstage, and Yvonne just looked absolutely furious.  “Lady Gābena, these things do happen,” Pearl offered, attempting to laugh it off.

“‘These things do happen,’ eh?” Yvonne repeated, chuckling softly. “You have been here five _minutes_ , what do you know?” she hissed. “These things happen all the time! For the past five months, these things have been happening!” She spun around and pointed a finger at White, who was conversing quietly with Iris near the edge of the stage. “And did _you_ stop them from happening? No!”

White was a little taken aback to be addressed so directly, but she said nothing – what could she say? Yvonne’s accusations were spot on. “And you…you are just as bad as her!” Yvonne screeched at Pearl. “If you can’t stop these things from happening, then… _this_ thing,” she pointed to herself, “is not happening! Goodbye!”

She stormed off the stage, calling, “Xavier! Shauna! We’re leaving! Make sure to bring your Furfrou!”

White cleared her throat. “Well, gentlemen, I’m afraid there’s not much more I can do to assist you,” she told the managers. “If you need me, I’ll be giving the viscount a little tour. Good luck, and, ah…please do mind my friend in the rafters.” With this cryptic message, she dragged the viscount back offstage.

Diamond looked quizzically at Cheren. “Mind her ‘friend in the rafters’?”

“Ah, I can answer that, sir,” Iris said, walking up between them. She offered them a letter. “I have a message for you from our resident Opera Ghost.”

“Oh, good heavens, you’re all obsessed,” Pearl complained.

“He welcomes you to his Musical Theater–”

“ _His_ Musical Theater?”

“–and commands that you continue to leave Box 5 empty, for his use.” Iris smiled slyly. “He also reminds you that his salary is due.”

“His salary!” Diamond and Pearl exchanged glances.

“Well, Ms. Lefévre always gave him 400,000 yen a month.”

“400,000 yen!?”

“Yes, that’s what I said,” Iris replied. “Of course, maybe you can afford more, with the viscount as your patron…”

“That’s crazy!” Diamond spluttered. “Ms. Lefévre hasn’t left the theater. Surely she can continue to pay this ‘ghost’?”

“He doesn’t bother with Pokémon Musicals,” Iris informed them. “The Phantom is only interested in Musical Shows.”

“Speaking of Musical Shows,” Cheren interrupted, “we must get back to practicing for the gala tonight.”

“Why bother?” Pearl snapped, snatching the letter from Iris’s hands. “Obviously, we will have to cancel the gala,” he said, ripping up the note, “because it appears we have lost our star!”

“You do realize what it will look like to the public if you cancel White Lefévre’s birthday gala, right?” Iris pointed out. “They’ll see the new managers refusing to celebrate their predecessor. It won’t gain you any favor in the public eye.”

“Well, surely there’s an understudy for the role,” Diamond said hopefully, in contrast to his partner’s horrified look.

“Understudy?” Cheren echoed incredulously. “There is no understudy for Lady Gābena. She’d never allow it.”

Pearl groaned and rubbed his temples. “What do we do now, Dia?”

“Whitley Daaé could sing it,” Iris suggested. The brunette chorus girl, who was hovering at the edge of the group with Yuki, stared at Iris in surprise. “She has been taking lessons from a great teacher.”

“Who?” Diamond asked.

“I-I don’t know his name, sir,” Whitley stammered. _But how does_ she _know that?_

“Let her sing for you, sir. She has been well taught,” Iris assured them.

She gestured for Whitley to step forward, but the girl was trembling too much to move until Yuki gave her a friendly shove. She timidly approached the new managers, folding her arms across her chest and not quite meeting their eyes. “This is doing nothing for my nerves,” Pearl grumbled.

“From the beginning of the aria, please, Miss Daaé,” Mr. Reyer called, stepping back to his music stand.

She began slowly, her voice quiet and unsteady. “Think of me, th-think of me fondly…when we’ve…said…”

Her voice caught in her throat. She couldn’t do it. Not with so many people around, for something so important as the starring role of the show…

_Think of me, think of me fondly when we’ve said goodbye!_

That’s right…he had practiced this part with her so many times that she knew it by heart. He had been encouraging her to do it for so long…she just had to imagine she was back there, practicing with him. All she needed to do was open her mouth and sing.

“Think of me, think of me fondly when we’ve said goodbye! Remember me, every so often. Promise me you’ll try! On that day, that not so distant day, when you are far away and free, if you ever find a moment, spare a thought for me!”

She never thought she’d do it, but here she was, Whitley Daaé, standing on the stage in the Musical Theater, singing for hundreds or maybe even thousands of people. It was just like he had said – it felt _right_.

“And though it’s clear, though it was always clear, that this was never meant to be, if you happen to remember, stop and think of me. Think of all the things we’ve shared and seen; don’t think about the way things might have been.” She had a wistful smile on her face as she sat back on the bench onstage, looking up at the pair of Illumise and Volbeat that danced through the air. “Think of me, think of me waking silent and resigned. Imagine me, trying too hard to put you from my mind. Think of me, please say you’ll think of me, whatever else you choose to do. There will never be a day when I won’t think of you!”

The viscount watched her performance with muted awe from his seat in the managers’ personal viewing box. “Can that really be Whitley?” he murmured to himself. It had been so long since he had seen her. They were so young and innocent back then. She had been so shy, too, so he was happy to see how much she had grown. But given how he had left things with her, he had to wonder if she remembered him as fondly as he remembered her.

“Flowers fade, the fruits of summer fade. They have their seasons, so do we. But please promise me that sometimes you will think of me!”

The end of Whitley’s song was met with thunderous applause, and she looked out at the audience with excitement sparkling in her eyes. For the first time since her mother’s death, she felt like she could be the performer she always encouraged her to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed that chapter! This story is the product of over a year's worth of work, and it's gone through more revisions than I can count. Since I've put so much effort into it, I'm going to ramble a bit about some of the choices I made for the details in each chapter in the end notes. You can ignore them if you don't care, but do pay attention to the bolded sentence at the end of each end note - it'll give you a brief idea of what's coming in the next chapter!
> 
> Also, if there's ever anything you have a question about - be it world, plot, or characters - feel free to leave a comment here or ask me on my Tumblr (@mala-sadas). Or if you just want to scream about the story, I'm open to scream about it with you, too. This story is my big passion project and it means the world to see feedback or even just conversation on it. <3
> 
> Anyways, first thing I want to talk about is the dresses that Yvonne and the chorus girls are wearing. They're actually inspired by a couple of the dresses that the player can wear in X and Y - Yvonne is wearing the Frilly Dress (https://www.serebii.net/xy/clothes/female/frillydresspalepink.png) and the chorus girls are wearing the Sparkly Bolero Dress (https://www.serebii.net/xy/clothes/female/sparklybolerodresspink.png). 
> 
> While we're talking about Yvonne, a few notes about the names here. Generally speaking, characters have the first name of their Spe counterpart and the last name of their Phantom counterpart. The notable exceptions here would be Yvonne, Xavier, Blake (the viscount), and Whitley. They use those names because "X", "Y", "Lack-Two", and "Whi-Two" just don't sound enough like normal names for the purpose of this story, though Xavier and Yvonne do go by the nicknames X and Y around each other. Yvonne, though taking the role of Carlotta Giudicelli, keeps the last name that she's given in the manga for the sake of simplicity. The viscount is not called the vicomte for two reasons: one, this region is based on New York so nobody here uses French titles; and two, the battle facility in Kalos that uses titles of nobility uses the title "Viscount", not "Vicomte". Why is he called the Viscount of Chenonceau as opposed to Chagny? Well, the aforementioned battle facility, the Battle Chateau, is based off of a real chateau in France: the Château de Chenonceau.
> 
> Diamond and Pearl as the managers was a very recent revision; for most of this story's writing, the managers were Trevor and Tierno. But I realized that, while Tierno could be made to fit the role, it made absolutely no sense for the quiet researcher Trevor to become a bold, defiant businessman. In fact, aside from a few dialectical changes, I realized I could assign most of Trevor's lines to Pearl without changing them at all. Diamond and Pearl seemed like a better pair to be running a theater, anyways. Hope that decision doesn't make anyone too unhappy.
> 
> Next, the Phantom's salary! Originally, the Phantom's salary was given in 'Pokédollars', and I tried a few different tactics to decide what amount it should be - checking conversion rates between francs, yen, and dollars, as well as looking at inflation in the value of the franc between 1880 and the present to see how much that 20,000 francs would be worth today. Eventually, I decided that I was putting way too much thought into a simple throwaway number and just decided to make the currency yen, since that's what Sun's collecting and he lives in Poké-Hawaii, convert 20,000 francs to yen, and round up. For reference, 400,000 yen is about 3,600 US dollars or 3,000 Euro.
> 
> Whitley's song, "Think of Me", is taken directly from the musical, though the lyrics come from a couple of different versions of the song. I used the ones that fit Whitley the best, symbolically. This is really the only time that you're going to see more than one or two lines of song lyrics at a time directly from the show, as the other songs have either been replaced by dialogue or adapted for this universe. But I'll still make note of when I'm referencing songs from the musical.
> 
>  
> 
> **Up next: Whitley receives a lot of visitors after the show...**


	3. Friends and Fans

After the performance, Whitley returned to her room exhausted, but happy. She sat down in front of the small mirror on her bureau to let her hair down and take the cloth daisies out of it. As she removed the last flower, she heard a polite knock on her door. “Come in,” she called.

Mrs. Giry gently opened the door and slipped inside. “You did very well, my dear,” she said. She produced from her pink jacket a deep red rose, tied with a black ribbon. “He’s quite pleased with you.”

Whitley held the rose delicately between her fingers. “Thank you,” she said softly, placing it on her bureau away from the pile of fake flowers. Then she looked back up at Mrs. Giry, a puzzled look on her face. “But I don’t understand…how do you know…?”

“I have known him for quite some time, my dear,” Mrs. Giry replied, stepping back to the door. “He put in a good word for you recently.”

Whitley nodded slowly as Mrs. Giry left; she wondered how the ballet manager could possibly know her teacher. But then again – she barely knew her teacher herself. She got up and changed out of the long, elegant white dress she had borrowed for the performance into a lime green T-shirt and pink shorts. Then she sat down on her bed, disturbing the Foongus that had been sleeping on her pillow. “Sorry, Foongy,” she said to the indignant mushroom. 

Foongy jumped onto her lap and she stroked its head. “I saw Blake today,” she told it. “He’s the new patron of Musical Shows. Do you remember him?” Foongy glared at her, and she sighed. “I know you don’t like him, but he’s not that bad. Really.”

Foongy apparently disagreed with this statement, because it rolled off her lap and hopped across the bed, stopping to balance on a bedpost. From there, it leaped to Whitley’s bureau, where it landed in the pile of flowers, scattering them. “Oh, Foongy, don’t be like that,” Whitley protested. 

She gathered up all the flowers and placed them in a drawer. She would return them to the costume department with the dress the next day. Then, she turned back to the rose on her dresser. Unthinkingly, she had placed it right next to the only picture of her mother that she owned. She picked up the rose and sniffed it; it had an oddly musty odor for a fresh flower. 

Suddenly, Yuki’s voice floated into the room. “Whitley!” The door swung open, and the blonde dancer stood in the doorway with her hands on her hips. “What in the world was that?” she said, a stern frown on her face. “I can’t believe you! Dad said you could sing before, and Mom said you’ve gotten better, but that…” 

Her tough farce finally dissolved into a fit of giggles, and she rushed forward and hugged her friend. “That was absolutely perfect!” she squealed, grabbing Whitley’s hands and bouncing up and down. “I’m so happy for you. Mark my words, people are gonna be talking about this for  _ weeks _ !”

Whitley gave her a grateful, albeit a little embarrassed, smile, and moved to shut the door. Yuki lowered her voice conspiratorially and continued, “Now, you’ve gotta tell me your secret. This mysterious tutor of yours – who is he?” Whitley hesitated, and Yuki leaned closer. “C’mon, I promise I won’t tell anybody,” she whispered.

“That’s not the problem,” Whitley murmured. “It’s…you won’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me,” Yuki declared.

Her friend sighed. “My teacher is…the Angel of Music.”

Yuki’s brow furrowed. “That doesn’t tell me anything. He’s gotta have a pretty voice to get you to sing like that, but…”

Whitley shook her head. “That’s not it. The Angel of Music…it’s a story that my mother used to tell me, back in Fiore. He’s a kind spirit that visits aspiring musicians and helps them become the best musicians they can be. My mother promised me as she was dying that she’d send the Angel to me.”

“So he’s like…the opposite of the Phantom,” Yuki chuckled.

“I suppose,” Whitley said, laughing softly. “He’s a musical genius, and he has the most heavenly voice. But I’ve never seen him…”

“Maybe he’d reveal himself if we asked,” Yuki mused. She looked up at the ceiling and shouted, “Hey! Angel! Can you hear me?”

“Shh!” Whitley hissed, clapping a hand over her friend’s mouth.

Yuki pulled Whitley’s hand away and looked at her friend in concern. Her hand was freezing cold, and her face was very pale. “Whitley, are you okay?” Yuki asked.

“It-it frightens me, sometimes,” she admitted. “That…I’m just imagining it all, or…that others won’t believe me if they find out.”

“I believe you,” Yuki said, squeezing her friend’s hand reassuringly. “There’s no need to be frightened.”

Behind her, Foongy hopped to the edge of the bureau and held its head high. Yuki giggled and said, “Plus, Foongy will protect you from anyone who tries to hurt you.”

Whitley smiled shyly and picked up Foongy, putting it on her head. “Of course he will,” she said. 

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. Yuki answered it and, to her surprise, found a charming young brunette standing on the other side. “Blake!” she exclaimed. “I-I mean, Viscount!”

“Good evening,” he said. “If you don’t mind, may I speak to Miss Daaé alone?”

“Of course,” Yuki said, a little more dazedly than she meant to. As with most girls in their class, she had been infatuated with Blake in their youth, but he only ever had the eyes for Whitley. She thought she had gotten over that little crush, but it was hard not to fall for those perfectly handsome features. She slipped outside and let Blake enter on his own, watching him until he closed the door.

“Blake,” Whitley said, a little unsure of what to say. She managed a shy smile and said, “It’s been a while.”

His eyes sparkled with enthusiasm and a hint of mischief. “Nine years too long, as I recall.” 

Whitley giggled, and noticed that he was holding his hands behind his back. “What do you have there?” she asked.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” he answered casually. “Just a little something I picked up on the way here that I thought you might appreciate.”

He pulled his hands out from behind him, revealing a beautiful pink blossom with six petals and a white center. Whitley gasped. “A Gracidea flower!” she exclaimed, taking it from him and cradling it in her hands. “You remembered – that’s my favorite!” She looked up from the flower to Blake. “But how did you get one? They’re so rare in Unova…”

“Anything for my little Faitsu,” Blake responded with a charming grin. “Here, let me put it in your hair for you.”

Blake reached towards Whitley, but Foongy angrily jumped from her head and landed on Blake’s hand. He leaned his head towards Blake, as though threatening to blast Blake with spores if he got any closer to his Trainer.

“Foongy, don’t be like that,” Whitley said crossly. “Do you want me to return you to your Poké Ball?”

The mushroom Pokémon whirled around and stared at Whitley with wide eyes. Then, he reluctantly jumped from Blake’s hand to Whitley’s pillow, but continued to closely monitor the two of them. 

“I’m sorry about that,” Whitley said as Blake affixed the Gracidea flower in her hair, just above her right ear. 

“Don’t be,” Blake sighed, stepping away from Whitley. “He has every right to be wary of me. After all, I…” 

“You moved away from Aspertia without saying a word in explanation, and now you’re standing here in my dressing room and giving me flowers like nothing happened,” Whitley finished.

Blake winced. “I know, I know, and I’m sorry – but my…father, he wouldn’t–”

Whitley put a hand to his lips to stop him, and laughed at his shocked expression. “Blake, I know what happened. Your butler explained it to me after you left,” she said reassuringly.

“H-he did?” Blake looked bewildered. “But…what…why…?”

“I understand,” Whitley continued. “You had to get a proper noble education eventually. I’m not mad at you – I’m just happy that I got the chance to know a member of the Kalosian nobility personally.”

He blinked. Then understanding dawned in his eyes. “He told you…that I was just taking the chance to study among normal kids for a while,” he said. “But, still,  _ I _ should have told you. I knew that I would have to leave, but I thought I could convince my father to change his mind…and when I failed, I was too much of a coward to tell you about it. I’m sorry.”

Whitley paused, glancing between Blake’s pleading eyes and Foongy’s narrowed pupils. Finally, she said simply, “I forgive you.”

Blake let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “Thank you,” he said.

Foongy let out an angry snort and rolled over so that he wasn’t facing Blake and Whitley anymore. Whitley sighed and gave him a little pat on the head, then turned back to Blake. “Oh! I almost forgot,” he said. “The reason I gave you that flower. You sang like an angel tonight, little Faitsu. It was marvelous.”

Whitley blushed. “It was all thanks to the Angel of Music,” she murmured. “Do you remember that story, Blake?”

“Of course.”

“Mother said, ‘When I’m in heaven, child, I will send the Angel of Music to you.’ Well, my mother is dead, Blake. And I have been visited by the Angel of Music.”

“Oh, no doubt of it,” Blake said. “Now, why don’t we catch up over supper?”

Whitley shook her head regretfully. “I can’t. The Angel of Music is very strict.”

Blake frowned. “What do you mean by that, Whitley?”

“The Angel says that I ought to be mindful of my actions now that I am an adult. I should not be going out with others after a performance.”

“But…how can the Angel tell you that?” Blake asked. “You don’t mean to tell me you’re  _ literally _ being visited by a spirit?”

“I am, and he would not approve of me going out to dinner after a performance. It’s bad for my health,” Whitley said, folding her arms.

Blake pursed his lips. “Well, I’ll try not to keep you up too late, but I can see we have a lot that we need to talk about.” He stood up and headed for the door. “I’ll give you time to get changed into something more suitable to go out in.” And with that, he closed the door.

Whitley sighed and turned to her bed, where Foongy was giving her an “I told you so” look. She stuck her tongue out at the mushroom and sat back down, instinctively reaching for the pink flower in her hair. It was a real Gracidea. Blake was the one who had told her that its name means “gratitude”, which was why he often gave her a Gracidea as a way of saying thanks…

Suddenly, the light in her room turned off, and she heard the click of her bedroom door locking. Whitley looked around nervously; Foongy took a defensive stance. Then she heard a familiar voice float into her room, but with an unfamiliar sharp edge.

"Insolent boy! Visiting you, daring to bask in your glory … this brave young suitor is nothing but an ignorant fool who understands nothing of music. Forget him."

Whitley responded hesitantly, “I'm sorry, Angel. Forgive me, I didn't mean to offend you…" She looked up. "You're not going to leave me, are you?”

"Fear not, Whitley. I will never abandon you, and I will never let any harm come to you."

Whitley paused, remembering her earlier conversation with Yuki. “Angel, may I make a request of you?”

"Anything, my dear."

“May I…” Whitley gulped. “May I see you? To know the face of the one who has given me so much?”

The Angel of Music did not respond immediately, and Whitley began to worry that her request had been too impertinent to ask of a supernatural being. Finally, he spoke.

"You shall never know my face, my dear, but you shall see the one who teaches you, if you so desire. Come, look inside the mirror."

Whitley stood up and looked at the full-length mirror that had been installed in her wall before she arrived in the theater. She realized in awe that she could now see more than just herself in the mirror. The second shape was hard to make out clearly, but she knew in her heart who it must be. Slowly, she walked towards the mirror, closer and closer to her angel on the other side.

As she reached out to touch the surface of the mirror, she realized suddenly that the mirror was no longer there. She could see a man on the other side, a man shrouded in darkness. In a flash, he grabbed her hand and jerked her through the frame. She cried out in surprise, but her voice quickly faded into silence as the man brought her into a long hallway behind the mirror.

Foongy had jumped forward to protect his Trainer as soon as he realized what was happening, but he smacked straight into the mirror. Everything was back to as it had been in the room before Whitley had returned. Foongy would have believed that he’d just imagined everything if it wasn’t for the pink and white flower that had fallen on the floor in front of the mirror.

Suddenly, Foongy heard a nervous knock on the door. “Whitley?” Blake called. “Are you in there?”

Foongy hopped over to the door and attempted to unlock it, but unlocking a door was impossible to do with his very short limbs. He decided that desperate times called for desperate measures and used Toxic on the doorknob, corroding the lock mechanism. When Blake tried opening the door, it swung open easily, revealing the room to be totally empty aside from the apologetic Foongus next to the door. Whitley was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the part of the story where I talk about the creative process for this chapter! This chapter is structured around the "Angel of Music", "Little Lotte", and "The Mirror" portions of the musical, though there aren't many lines taken directly from the songs. Originally, I had just used the song lyrics as the dialogue for this scene, but I decided to change it to better reflect the personalities of my versions of the characters, as well as to make the dialogue sound less like poetry and more like conversation.
> 
> Notes on costume choices: Whitley's dress for the gala is basically the same as the one worn by Emmy Rossum in the 2004 POTO movie (https://78.media.tumblr.com/cf7841af4fdf1a788db6947a2b9831b1/tumblr_msg52wpE8B1rb0h8ao1_640.jpg) but with a bit flatter skirt. The outfit she changes into is the same as Rosa's scientist costume from Pokéstar studios (https://archives.bulbagarden.net/wiki/File:B2W2_Rosa_Pok%C3%A9star_Scientist.png) with shorts instead of a skirt and minus the lab coat. Iris's outfit is based on an outfit that anime!Iris wore in a promo for the Pokémon Musical (https://archives.bulbagarden.net/wiki/File:Wishful_Musical.png). I don't have any specific outfit in mind for Blake, but I think it's amusing to imagine him wearing Nate's prince costume from Pokéstar Studios (https://archives.bulbagarden.net/wiki/File:B2W2_Nate_Pok%C3%A9star_Royalty.png).
> 
> Foongy's role in this story is largely minimal, but I couldn't not include him. He can't play the exact same role that he does in the manga, where he appears in most panels that Whitley appears in and reacts to what's going on, since a written story usually only calls attention to background details like that if they are or will be important to the story. So his reactions are generally a bit more emphatic than manga!Foongy's, and Whitley's more responsive to them. My beta liked his inclusion, so I hope you do as well.
> 
> You may have missed the quick little reference last chapter, but it should be pretty clear by now that Whitley's parent that she had a close relationship with is her mother, not her father. This was a conscious decision; Whitley's mother is a specific character within the Spe universe who wasn't a part of Team Plasma, and the environment she was raised in definitely impacted her personality and interests in this universe. I won't say any more than that, since I go into more detail with Whitley's family life later in the story. Same with Yuki's family.
> 
> Now, as far as I know, nobody in the Pokémon universe talks about angels. What they do talk about a lot, though, is ghosts - and some people believe in them, but other people don't. That's why I decided to make "Angel of Music" the name for a particular benevolent spirit rather than an actual angel. But there are some people who believe in ghosts but think they're all mischievous or evil, so those people wouldn't believe that the Angel's intentions are purely good. Whitley doesn't know if Yuki is one of those people, which is why she's hesitant to tell her about the Angel. But since Blake heard the story of the Angel, she assumes that he believes in it, too. But he doesn't believe in ghosts at all - he thought (correctly) that the "Angel of Music" is metaphorical, and the point of the story is just that if you're dedicated to being a musician, you'll eventually become a great musician. Whitley's mom promising to "send the Angel of Music" just meant that she wanted Whitley to pursue her passion for music and become a great musician.
> 
> That brings us to the viscount. Personality-wise, he's way more similar to Raoul than to Blake, both because I wouldn't be able to stand writing him as an emotionless asshole and because I started writing this before we found out that he's an emotionless asshole. Back then, all we knew was that he was an asshole. The viscount even tones down Raoul's arrogance a little; I want to make him a sympathetic character.
> 
> His nickname for Whitley is "little Faitsu", as opposed to Raoul's "Little Lotte". Less alliterative, yeah, but Whitley and Blake were older when they first met, so they wouldn't have heard a ton of fairy tales from Mama Daaé. The nickname comes from the transliteration of Whitley's Japanese name (ファイツ). The flower he gives her, Gracidea (https://cdn.bulbagarden.net/upload/4/43/Key_Gracidea_Sprite.png), is canonically Whitley's favorite flower; while I don't know the actual origin of its name, it's given in bouquets to express gratitude according to game lore, so I figured saying the name means "gratitude" isn't too much of a stretch.
> 
>  
> 
> **Up next: Blake investigates Whitley's disappearance, and the Phantom stirs up more trouble...**


	4. Mystery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I interrupt your reading to bring you a brief PSA. You may have noticed that I've added this work to a series with the same name. That's because I've begun publishing a second story called "The Musical Archives" which will contain several side stories and deleted scenes from this work. Once you finish this chapter, I recommend flipping over and checking the first chapter out! It gives some insight into Xavier and Yvonne's characters that's not really shown in the main story. 
> 
> And now, back to the story at hand...

As soon as Yuki shared the news of Whitley’s disappearance with the rest of the ballet chorus, it spread quickly through the Musical Theater. Rumors concerning its cause were rampant and varying: “Yvonne did it because she’s jealous of Whitley”, “The viscount staged it so he could have Whitley all to himself”, “Whitley couldn’t handle the pressure of being a star, so she just bolted”. The most popular rumor, naturally, was that it was the work of the notorious Phantom of the Musical.

“So there they were, hanging from the chandelier,” Bianca was telling the chorus girls. “Then, all of a sudden… _ CRACK! _ ” She slapped her hands together, causing a few of the girls to jump and squeal in terrified delight. “The chain snapped, and the chandelier fell to the ground. Oh,  _ she _ was clever – she had her Flying-type Pokémon carry her to safety. But that poor little stagehand was left to get crushed by the chandelier, and now he haunts the theater in vengeance for the clever girl who left him to die.” Shadows danced across her face as she attempted a sinister-sounding laugh. “Perhaps that’s why he’s made a move now…”

Iris Giry interrupted Bianca’s tale by flicking the light switch, bathing the room in light. “Oh, quit it with that old ghost story,” she said crossly, walking to the center of the room. “It’s not helping anyone, Buquet, least of all yourself.” She jabbed a finger at Bianca’s face, pushing up her pale pink-rimmed glasses. Then she turned around to look at her chorus girls. “Now go home, all of you! You’ll regret staying so late telling tales when morning comes.”

As the rest of the chorus girls scattered, Yuki and Blake slipped back to Whitley’s room, where Foongy was jumping around impatiently. “That was a complete waste of time,” Blake complained. “If I had known they were just going to be telling ridiculous ghost stories, I would not have agreed to listen to them.” 

When Yuki had come back to Whitley’s room, Blake had been playing charades with Foongy, attempting to find out what he knew, with little success. Yuki had suggested that they see what ideas the chorus girls had on the matter, though she knew the ideas probably wouldn’t be very plausible. Now she regretted suggesting it; she didn’t realize Blake wouldn’t enjoy a good ghost story.

“I do not know what that means, you asinine fungus!” he shouted at Foongy, exasperated. “I want to find her, not play tag with her Pokémon.”

Foongy was starting to lose his patience with Blake. He squealed angrily and jumped over to Whitley’s bureau, nudging the rose that was still laying on top of it. “That’s a very pretty rose,” Yuki offered, a little puzzled by his pointing it out.

“Perhaps the one who gave Whitley the rose is the one who took her,” Blake postulated. “However, that is extremely unhelpful considering we do not know who gave Whitley the rose!”

“Maybe we should just sleep on it,” Yuki suggested.

“And leave Whitley in the hands of some – some  _ criminal _ all night?” Blake countered. “I think not!”

“But what else can we do?” Yuki asked.

Blake sighed, knowing that Yuki’s argument was logically sound. However, he couldn’t help feeling like giving up for the night meant he was abandoning Whitley, just like he had done nine years ago. Finally, when Mrs. Giry popped her head into the room to take Yuki home, he decided to head home himself and return first thing the next morning.

And when the next morning dawned, Blake arose and returned to the Musical Theater bright and early. He didn’t even bother to awaken his butler before leaving. It was so early, in fact, that the Theater had not even opened yet – he had to wait impatiently for a janitor to let him in before he could dash up to Whitley’s room. 

Foongy was still asleep when Blake entered, but that bothered him little. A good night’s sleep had cleared his mind and allowed him to realize that Whitley’s disappearance was likely related to the man’s voice he thought he had heard coming from inside the room. This man, Blake theorized, had been impressed by Whitley’s performance and gave her the rose that was on the dresser. However, that had not been enough for him; he had to have Whitley for himself. And so, once Yuki and Blake had left, the mystery man had swept in and kidnapped Whitley. 

Blake was quite proud of himself for coming up with this deduction, but there was still one glaring problem with it that he had not yet solved, and that was the problem that he aimed to address in his investigation this morning. He opted to start with the mirror, since Whitley’s Gracidea had been lying on the ground by it. He supposed it was a sign of a tussle that had occurred there. He felt oddly proud of Whitley for attempting to stand her ground, even if she was ultimately unsuccessful. 

However, close inspection of the mirror revealed nothing out of the ordinary about it. There was no secret switch, no revolving panel, no sliding track, or anything to indicate the possibility that it could be used as a second entrance to the room. The oddest thing about it was the fact that it was installed  _ in _ the wall, instead of being mounted  _ on _ the wall. But Blake conceded that this fact on its own was not enough to prove that the mirror could have been the mystery man’s means of entering and exiting the room, with Whitley, unseen.

By this time, Foongy had woken up and was watching Blake warily. He seemed to be willing to make a temporary truce with Blake for Whitley’s sake, but that didn’t mean he trusted Blake completely. When Blake stood up and moved toward Whitley’s bureau, Foongy hopped over to it and glared at him. “I am not trying to snoop,” he said defensively, “only to examine that rose.” But Foongy didn’t seem to believe him, so he reluctantly stepped away from the dresser. Admittedly, upon secondary observation, the black ribbon tied around the rose’s stem didn’t have any note attached to it.

Blake sat down on Whitley’s bed and sighed. The only remaining explanation was that the mystery man had teleported into Whitley’s room with the help of a Psychic-type Pokémon and teleported out, which meant that there was no possible way for them to track him down. They could be hundreds of miles away by now. But he desperately wanted to cling to the hope that Whitley would be okay, that he could have the chance to see her again. “Foongy,” Blake said, “did this mystery man teleport Whitley out of here last night?”

Foongy shook his head. Blake was simultaneously elated and bewildered by this response. “So how did he do it?” he said, not expecting a response. He was back in the same place he was when he started, but at least it was a more hopeful place than the pit of despair he had almost fallen into. 

To Blake’s surprise, Foongy hopped off Whitley’s dresser, calling for Blake to follow. The mushroom led him across the room to the mirror where he had begun his investigation. “The mirror,” Blake said flatly. “You say he pulled her through the mirror.” Foongy nodded. Impulsively, Blake yelled and slammed his fist into the mirror. His fist now hurt a lot, but the mirror stayed stubbornly in the same spot. Gently cradling his throbbing hand, he said through gritted teeth, “Must be a fickle mirror, then.”

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. Blake crossed the room to open it, attempting to hold his injured hand in a relatively casual fashion. To his astonishment, his butler was on the other side. “Looker!” he exclaimed.

Looker gave him a stiff little bow and said, “Pardon the intrusion, sir. But it seems that in your haste to leave this morning, you neglected to notice that a letter had arrived for you. Handwritten letters are not commonplace these days…”

* * *

“I can’t believe this!” Pearl shouted, storming into the managers’ office and waving a few wrinkled printouts in the air. “She disappeared  _ last night _ , and already  _ four  _ different news sites have reported on it. Look at this headline – ‘Diva Quits, Cover Flits. Big Changes to Come at the Musical Theater?’”

“We’re just having such bad luck with our sopranos,” Diamond sighed, leaning back in his swivel chair. “First Yvonne, now Whitley. What are we going to do, Pearl?”

“Well, Yvonne’s assistant told me that she’s willing to come back next season, so she hasn’t quit for good,” Pearl grumbled, flicking through more of the papers. “And we’re starting to see an increase in presales for next season, even though we haven’t finalized the cast list yet. Who would have thought that a scandal would be the key to success?”

“I know, it’s awful,” Diamond complained.

“Awful?” Pearl repeated, chuckling. “It’s publicity, Dia. Free publicity! What more do we need?”

“How about a cast?”

“Details, details.” Pearl said, shaking his head. As he tossed the printed articles onto Diamond’s desk, he noticed an envelope addressed to Diamond in shining red ink. Pointing to it, he asked, “You got one of those too?”

Diamond blinked at him. “Yes, I did,” he said. He picked up the letter that he had taken out of the envelope and began to read it aloud. “Dear Diamond, what a charming gala. Whitley enjoyed a great success. We were hardly bereft when Yvonne left. Otherwise, the chorus was entrancing, but the dancing was a lamentable mess. –O.G.”

Pearl rolled his eyes and pulled out a nearly identical note that he had received that morning. “Dear Pearl, just a brief reminder,” he read, “my salary has not been paid. I thought we’d agreed you’d take care of that for me. No one likes a debtor, so it’s better if my orders are obeyed. –O.G.”

“Who would send this?” Diamond asked.

“Someone with the maturity of a twelve-year-old,” Pearl snapped. “These are both signed ‘O.G.’; who the hell is he?”

“Opera Ghost,” Diamond guessed. “That’s what Mrs. Giry said yesterday.”

“He’s mocking our position!”

“And he wants money, too…that’s a funny demand coming from a spirit.”

“It’s not funny; it’s simply insane!” Pearl exclaimed.

Suddenly, Blake burst into the office. “Where is Miss Daaé?” he demanded.

Diamond and Pearl stared blankly at him. “How should we know?” Pearl retorted.

“Because you must have sent me this note,” Blake replied, producing the letter he had received from Looker.

“That’s nonsense!” Pearl exclaimed. “We’ve sent no letters to anyone!”

“That’s right!” Diamond chimed in.  “We’re as much in the dark as to Miss Daaé’s location as you are.”

“What even is this letter we supposedly wrote?” Pearl asked suspiciously.

Diamond took the note from Blake and examined it. The letter was written on stationery with the Musical Theater’s logo on it, with the words “From the office of the manager” printed underneath – just as though it were an official notice from them. But the message it contained was written in the same script and shining red ink as the notes Pearl and Diamond had received. 

“Do not fear for Miss Daaé. The Angel of Music has her under his wing. Make no attempt to see her again,” Diamond read aloud.

Blake frowned. “If you did not write it–”

The door suddenly slammed open once again, this time revealing Yvonne and her two assistants. “You!” she screeched, jabbing a finger into Blake’s chest. “I have your letter, you audacious aristocrat. I am  _ insulted _ !”

“What letter are you talking about?” Blake asked, shoving her hand away. “I have not sent you anything, and  _ I _ am insulted by the notion that I would send–”

“Lady Gābena,” Diamond interrupted, “could you show us the letter you received?”

Yvonne snapped her fingers, and Shauna pulled out a letter addressed in red ink and handed it to Diamond. He unfolded it and read aloud, “Your days at the Musical Theater are numbered. Whitley Daaé will be singing your part in the next show. Be prepared for a great misfortune if you attempt to take her place.”

There was a stunned silence. Finally, Pearl broke it by declaring, “This is far too many letters for my taste. Hasn’t this fellow ever heard of a computer before?”

“And so many of them are about Whitley,” Diamond observed. “It seems like all we’ve heard since we’ve come here is her name.”

There was a polite cough from the doorway, and everyone turned to see Iris standing there, arms folded. “Miss Daaé has returned,” she announced.

“R-really?” Blake gasped. Then he immediately resumed his professional poise. “In good condition, I trust?”

“Where exactly is she now?” Diamond asked.

“I thought it best she was alone,” Iris said. “She’s resting with Ms. Lefévre for the time being.”

“May I see her?” Blake asked.

“No, you may not,” Iris said. "A fter I discovered her, I received a note." Groans ensued from all parties present. “Mr. Firmin, if you will?”

She handed the note to Pearl, who opened it and began to read. “Gentlemen, I have now sent you multiple notes of a most amiable nature detailing how my theater is to be run. This, however, is the most important of them all, and is your last chance to follow my instructions.

“Whitley Daaé has returned to you, and I am anxious for her career to progress. Therefore, in the new production of  _ Il Dolore Reale _ , you must cast Yvonne as the maid and Miss Daaé as the princess. The role of the princess calls for charm and appeal; the role of the maid is silent, which makes my casting, in a word, ideal.

“I will watch the performance from my normal seat in Box Five, which  _ will _ be kept empty for me. If these commands are ignored, a truly lovely disaster will occur. I remain, gentlemen, your obedient servant. –O.G.”

“Whitley! Whitley! It’s all a ploy to help Whitley!” Yvonne moaned. “This is insane! Why do I even bother with you idiots?” She strode angrily out of the office, flinging insults; she was tailed by her assistants and the managers. 

“We couldn’t do this without you, Lady Gābena,” Diamond pleaded. “We don’t have to answer to him. Miss Daaé can play the maid, the silent role, and you can play the lead!”

Blake followed them down the corridor, but he didn’t pay attention to their squabble. While they turned right at the end of the hall and headed into the show foyer, he turned left towards Ms. Lefévre’s offices. He knew Mrs. Giry has said Whitley needed to rest, but he wouldn’t be able to rest until he had seen with his own two eyes that she really was safe.

What in the world had happened to her?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter breaks the sequence of the musical a little, using "Magical Lasso" and "Notes" as its backbone and fleshing both songs out considerably. I wanted to follow both Blake's and Whitley's stories after she disappears, but since Whitley's story is considerably longer (and, in my opinion, more interesting) I decided to tell Blake's first and hers second. 
> 
> Probably the hardest part of this chapter was writing Foongy, since he knows exactly what happened but can't just come out and say it. Trying to come up with a nonverbal method of communication for a Pokémon who can't do much more than jump up and down is kinda difficult, and it's hard to figure out how people would interpret his motions when I know exactly what each one means. It's much easier to do it when Whitley's around, since she can understand him better than anybody.
> 
> When Whitley mentioned Blake's butler last chapter...yeah, she was talking about Looker. It seems to be a universal symbol in the Pokémon universe for rich people to have butlers, and Looker may as well be Blake's butler for as much respect as he gives him in canon. He doesn't show up much, though, so I haven't really put much thought into how he wound up as Blake's butler. Feel free to come up with your own ideas.
> 
> I was a little iffy about how much of "Notes" I should leave intact. It translates into dialogue pretty well, aside from the fact that people's speech doesn't rhyme that much in real life; the problem is that it's a very fast-paced scene, with a lot of people talking over each other and echoing each other, and that doesn't translate well in writing. Ultimately, I decided to cut out or simplify the redundant lines, but the letters were left mostly intact because poetry sounds much more threatening than prose.
> 
> Finally, a note about White's offices: she has two, the BW Agency office and the owner's office. She usually works out of the BW Agency office because it's more organized - the owner's office is a mess of papers and Props from her work as manager of the Pokémon Musical as well as owner of the Musical Theater. As such, when someone says "White's in her office," they're probably talking about the BW Agency office.
> 
> **Up next: What in the world happened to Whitley?**


	5. The Phantom

As he led her through secret passages in the walls that she hadn’t even known existed, Whitley was finally able to get a look at the man who had been her teacher of music for the past six years. His hair was navy blue and slick against his head, and he wasn’t much taller than her, though he was much thinner. She couldn’t make out his other features very well, in part due to the dim light, and in part due to the black cape, gloves, and fedora that he wore over his tuxedo. In addition, half of his face was hidden behind a white mask. 

She recognized the mask – she had heard many stories about the mysterious phantom who haunted the Musical Theater. He took on the appearance of many different ghosts: the Stagehand’s Ghost, the Ballpark Ghost, and the Garden Ghost, to name a few. But every ghost wore the same white half-mask, so each could be recognized as a different shade of the same phantom, the Phantom of the Musical. But Whitley had never heard anything about the Phantom having a beautiful voice – and this Phantom was her Angel of Music?

Whitley trembled. She’d been so naive to believe that the Phantom and the Angel were actual spirits haunting the Theater. Blake had seemed confused when she said that there was a spirit visiting her; he must have known that that was impossible, and that was what he wanted to talk about with her at dinner. If only she’d gone with him, she wouldn’t be trapped in this position now…but then again, Blake had left her to change, and then the Angel showed up before he returned. He knew what he was doing by taking her away now…

She tried to think optimistically about it. She had never been a target of the Phantom’s tricks during her time at the Theater after her angel started teaching her; it couldn’t be a coincidence that the two turned out to be the same man. Surely it meant he didn’t intend to harm her. But if he’d been lying to her about who he was, how did she know that he hadn’t been concealing his true intentions from her, too? 

But Mrs. Giry had said that she knew Whitley’s teacher, and it was no secret that Mrs. Giry was the only person at the Theater who interacted with the Phantom. She must have known about the deception, and obviously wasn’t concerned enough by it to warn Whitley. If she trusted this man, then Whitley should too. Yet even that conclusion relied on too many assumptions to be terribly reassuring to Whitley. 

Who  _ was  _ this man that walked in the walls, pretending to be the Angel and the Phantom? How did he manage to accomplish tasks that would be impossible for a normal man? But most importantly,  _ why _ was he doing any of it at all – and what was he planning to do with Whitley? 

He suddenly stopped at the top of a staircase where a single light bulb glowed. The steps descended into darkness, and he glanced back at her for a moment before she began her descent. In that moment, she could see his eyes for the first time. They were a deep red and burned with passion, with adoration, with longing. She took one last look into the light before he pulled her down into the darkness. 

The Phantom pulled her down, deeper and deeper, until finally they emerged into a room lit by only a single candle some distance away from them. When the candle began to float around the room, lighting more candles lining the walls, Whitley realized that the candle was actually a Pokémon.

As the Pokémon lit more candles with its flaming fist, Whitley could see it more clearly. The Pokémon had a humanoid form, with blue-green eyes and flowing green hair that resembled a musical staff because of the black streaks and blue ovals in it. Its white face and legs contrasted with its black body, giving it the appearance of a pale-skinned woman wearing a black dress. Whitley wondered if the Phantom’s attire was meant to resemble it.

Now that there was some light in the large, cavernous hall, Whitley could see that they were standing on the edge of a lake. The black-and-white Pokémon landed in front of them and gestured towards the water, then extinguished the fire on its hand. As they approached the lake, Whitley expected to see a boat or bridge that they would take across the lake. But the shadows hid nothing, and Whitley shivered, desperately hoping he didn’t expect her to swim.

To her surprise, he gently pulled her onto the surface of the lake. There was some sort of invisible bridge right on the lake’s surface that allowed them to cross without getting their feet wet. He glanced back at her again, and this time eagerness glistened in his eyes like a small child showing off his favorite new toy. A small smile crept onto his face upon seeing her awed reaction, but he quickly turned back to the path ahead of them. His Pokémon flew close above them.

He was pulling her more excitedly now. They were approaching the opposite shore of the lake, which held a large alcove of sorts bordered by three walls of the hall and the water’s edge. It was decorated almost like a bedroom, though it was a tad minimalist in style. The most impressive thing about it was the grand piano on the left side, though there was also a queen-size bed with a red-and-white comforter and a slightly dirty white cloth covering something rectangular on the opposite side. 

The Phantom released Whitley’s hand, allowing her to look around the area more closely. Against one wall, where the sloped ceiling was lowest, there was a desk covered with red gel pens and paper. A glittering golden mask was propped up on it. There was paper scattered everywhere on the stone gray tile, though most of it was sheet music around the piano and crumpled, discarded notes around the desk. The wall furthest from the lake and the wall to her left boasted a few curtains of various hues – blue, black, purple, red – and after watching the Phantom duck behind the dark blue one, Whitley supposed they led to other areas of the house.

Yes, there was no doubt in her mind that that was what this place was; it had to be where the Phantom lived. She could scarcely imagine what it might feel like to live so far underground like this, with only the companionship of the green-haired Pokémon that had landed on the piano bench. It must be a horribly lonely life, she thought with a twinge of pity. Then a terrible thought struck her – did he plan to make her his permanent companion, too?

She was trying to remember where the invisible bridge was located when a soft chord suddenly emanated from the piano, startling her. The Phantom had not yet returned from behind the dark blue curtain, so it couldn’t have been him playing. Yet the black Pokémon’s hands weren’t shaped to play piano; Whitley hadn’t thought it had any intention of playing it. As she crept closer to the piano and a few more chords rang out, Whitley realized the Pokémon was using some form of telekinesis to play them.

When the Pokémon realized it was being watched intently, however, it stopped playing and began to sing. She was shocked at first to hear a Pokémon singing, but listening to the song relaxed her; the Pokémon’s voice was almost as beautiful as her angel’s. She closed her eyes and smiled contentedly. The thought briefly flitted across her mind that the song sounded improvised.

Suddenly, Whitley felt a hand on her shoulder. Tranquilized by the song, she wasn’t startled, and merely turned around to see the Phantom standing behind her. He had taken off his cape and hat, but not his mask or gloves. When she made eye contact with him, he said with a dramatic flair, “Welcome, my dear, to my humble house of music.”

“I humbly accept,” she murmured dazedly. Was that the right response? She started to worry that he’d get mad at her for saying something stupid, but the Pokémon began singing softly again and she was reassured that the Phantom didn’t really care if the response made sense or not.

His eyes narrowed, and he pulled Whitley aside and glared at the Pokémon. It stopped singing and glared back. “Don’t you have something more important to be taking care of?” he asked crossly. It folded its arms and played a discordant chord on the piano before its eyes glowed green and it vanished.

“I apologize, my dear,” he said. “She interferes at the most inappropriate times. Shall we play a game?”

Whitley’s calm was quickly dissipating, and the Phantom suddenly seemed far too close for comfort. She took a step back from him. “What…what kind of game?”

“A musical game, of course. I’ve been waiting for a long time to play this one.” He took a seat at the piano and rested his hands on the keys. “The rules are simple. You will sing or hum a few bars of a song, and I will attempt to copy it on the piano. If I get it right, I’ll copy those notes onto this sheet music here,” he said, shuffling through the paper on top of the piano to find a blank sheet. “Shall we begin?”

“What happens if you get it wrong?” Whitley asked.

He smiled slyly and his eyes sparkled mischievously. “That’s a very big if, my dear.”

When he smiled like that, she noticed that his lips quirked in such a way that it looked like part of his upper lip was swollen. Yet when his smile faded, his lips shifted and it merely looked like a shadow that his mask cast on his lips. Whitley couldn’t tell if his lip was actually swollen or if it was just a trick of the light that made it look that way.

“Is something the matter?” the Phantom asked, putting a hand to his mask. The mischievous light had vanished from his eyes as he scrutinized her expression.

“I’m fine,” she said quickly. “Let’s play the game.”

He stared at her for a few more moments before turning back to the piano. Whitley took a shaky breath, trying to steady herself enough to sing. “Ready when you are, my dear,” he called, glancing over her shoulder at her.

“I’m…trying to think of a song,” she stammered, which seemed to satisfy him enough to make him turn back around. Knowing that he was waiting on her made her more nervous, which made it even harder for her to sing. She finally managed to softly hum a few bars from the first song that he had taught her, a song she knew so well that she could sing it in her sleep.

He copied her singing on the piano exactly, even holding out the final note longer than what was written like she always did.The only difference was that he played it twice as loud. “Come, my dear, that’s hardly creative,” he chided her. “And why aren’t you projecting your voice more? I taught you better than that.”

For a moment, with him talking exactly like he did in their lessons, Whitley could imagine that she was back in her bedroom having lessons with her faceless angel. Couldn’t she treat this the same way? It wasn’t the same, certainly – she was still wary of letting her guard down – but it would make it easier to sing if she just thought of it as another lesson.

So she did, and the game went smoothly. She sang part of a song, he played it on the piano, and he copied it onto the sheet music. As he predicted, he never got it wrong, always knowing the exact song that she sang. He even started to comment on the songs she picked as he was writing the notes down: “I can’t say I’m a big fan of ‘Forest Stroll’, but I suppose it’s most popular among little girls.” “Ah, ‘Masquerade.’ That’s a favorite of mine.” “The theme song of ‘Sinnoh News Now’? How on earth do you know that?”

“It was the only news network we had in Fiore. How on earth did you recognize it?”

“That’s not important. Let’s keep playing.”

Whitley was determined to find some song that she knew that he couldn’t copy, and she finally remembered one that he was certain not to recognize. She hummed it for him, and for the first time he hesitated before placing his fingers on the keys. He did a fairly decent job of copying the tune, but she picked out a few wrong notes and she knew he heard them too, because when he finished he turned around and sighed resignedly.

“Well, my dear, you’ve finally beaten me,” he said. “What song was that?”

Whitley couldn’t keep the triumphant grin on her face as she replied, “A song that my mother wrote for her band.”

“I see.”

“So, now that you’ve gotten a song wrong” – Whitley yawned – “what are you going to do?”

The Phantom raised his visible eyebrow at her. “I can tell you what you’re going to do,” he said. “You’re going to go to sleep.”

Whitley yawned again. “Okay,” she said. “How do I get back to my room?”

He frowned. “It would be much easier if you stayed here.”

She jolted back to alertness and stared at him. “St-stay here? In your home?” she stuttered. “R-really, I’d hate to impose…”

“You’re hardly imposing when I’ve already prepared for your stay,” he said smoothly, gesturing to the bed on the other side of the alcove. “You may sleep over there.”

“Al…alright,” Whitley mumbled, stumbling over to the bed. She glanced over her shoulder at the Phantom once and saw that he had been rejoined by the green-haired Pokemon. They watched her as she tucked herself under the comforter and curled up on her side where they couldn’t see that she was still wide awake and listening for any words they might exchange. But the green-haired Pokemon began to sing again, and this time it was a gentle lullaby that made her eyelids heavy and her mind numbed almost instantaneously, and she drifted off to sleep.

He approached the bed slowly, taking the earplugs out of his ears. He gently stroked her cheek, checking to make sure that she was asleep. “You are too kind, my sweet Whitley,” he murmured. “Please stay with me.”

He straightened up and stepped away from the bed, allowing a satisfied smile to cross his face. His heart was the lightest it had been since that dreadful time eighteen years ago; he had a proper human companion once more. The thought stirred up old memories, and he found himself drifting to the piano bench to let his fingers gently caress the piano’s keys again. They tapped out a tune that had been drifting through his head since childhood, one that told of peace and quiet, waiting for a loved one’s return. 

Whitley dreamed that she was waiting for her mother in a park that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, I get to introduce you guys to my version of the Phantom. He's not much like the musical Phantom because I didn't want to write a sexy, suave Phantom - instead, the Phantom's like his Pokéspe counterpart, but his anger is a lot less focused. (Guess which character is his counterpart.) It ties better into the themes that I want to focus on, anyways.
> 
> In the musical, the implication is that this whole sequence with the Phantom taking Christine down to his lair for the first time takes place while Christine is in some sort of trance/hypnosis state, so she goes with him without putting up a fight. While I don't doubt that the Phantom's Pokémon could put Whitley into that sort of a state - which she does manage to do briefly while the Phantom is changing - _I_ didn't want her being totally hypnotized for the whole thing. In fact, in my first few drafts of this chapter, she went with him without hesitation anyways; it wasn't until recently that I realized she really should have at least reservations about the Phantom showing up in her mirror. Given how timid and insecure she is now, she's still not going to be fighting against him.
> 
> The invisible bridge across the lake - I'll mention this now, since I got rid of the mention of it later - is made by using the move Reflect on its surface, though it doesn't cover the whole thing. If you don't like that explanation, feel free to make your own; I figure if Janine can have invisible walls in her Gym, the Phantom can have an invisible bridge in his lair.
> 
> The Phantom writes his notes in red gel pen for two reasons: one, it's sparkly, and two, I like gel pens. Some of the other details of his home are also inspired by my own habits, like the mess of paper all over his floor and desk. My desk is a disaster area, and his is only a little neater because his Pokémon attempts to organize it sometimes.
> 
> The Phantom's game was a very late addition, replacing earlier drafts where I just wrote my feelings while listening to Ramin's "Music of the Night" from the 25th anniversary soundtrack and even earlier drafts where the Phantom was just singing "Music of the Night" to Whitley. That song just doesn't fit thematically with my story, and reading about it just doesn't have the same effect as listening to it. I wanted something that had to do with music and was similar enough to a lesson that Whitley would feel comfortable doing it, but still wasn't anything that they could have done during a lesson. It was pretty fun to mess around with and write. 
> 
> The songs the Phantom comments on are all references - "Forest Stroll" is one of the four standard Pokémon Musical tracks, "Masquerade" is, of course, a song from Phantom, and "Sinnoh News Now" is the news program that plays on TVs in Sinnoh sometimes. It doesn't actually have a theme song that I know of, but I figure most news stations have some little jingle or something that plays at the beginning of the show. Also, the song he plays on the piano at the end was inspired by a great piano cover of GSC's National Park theme (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kiD50jSlEzk). 
> 
> I'm sure you still have plenty of questions about the mysterious Phantom, so feel free to ask them. But be aware that I can't tell you anything that'll spoil a big reveal later. 
> 
>  
> 
> **Up next: Whitley gets curious about the Phantom...**


	6. Behind the Mask

The next morning, Whitley was awoken by the sound of a music box. Half-asleep, she managed to roll out of her bed and make it stop playing. She then noticed the music box had a little Pansage on it, dressed up with a few Props. She wondered who had put it there and also why her floor was freezing cold this morning. But as she took in the rest of her unfamiliar surroundings, her brain jolted into alertness as it tried to explain how she had gotten there. 

Finally, she began to remember the events of the previous day: after singing at the gala, she went underground…she sang for a strange man…and then she spent the night in his home. The man in question, the Phantom, was now watching Whitley from the seat of his piano. When she made eye contact with him, he whispered a soft, “Good morning,” before turning back to his music. 

The Phantom’s Pokémon stood solemnly beside him, keeping a sharp eye on Whitley’s movements. She looked different than when Whitley first saw her; her eyes were now amber and the hair that flowed from her head was now wrapped on top and a reddish-brown color. She balanced delicately on her toes, ready to leap into battle or dance at a moment’s notice. Whitley wondered what kind of Pokémon she was, and how the Phantom managed to obtain one.

He chose that moment to say, “Meloetta. You may leave us now.” The Pokémon glared at him and, instead of teleporting like she had the night before, she stalked over to a light red curtain hanging on the wall a few feet away. She sat stubbornly on the ground in front of the curtain. When he voiced no protests, Meloetta grinned smugly and leaned against the curtain.

The Phantom began to play again, a tune that she recognized well – the first song he had taught her. Remembering their game night before, she began to hum along. As she hummed, she heard another voice join in to harmonize with her and realized the second voice was Meloetta’s. 

She glanced back over at the Phantom, focusing now on his mask. Why did he wear it? What would she find underneath? That curiosity drove her to move towards him, reach for his mask – and he immediately swatted her hand away.

“Don’t,” he said softly.

But curiosity had stubbornly seated itself in her soul, and it dared Whitley to make a move. Quick as a flash, she reached forward and grabbed the mask; he instinctively pulled back, causing Whitley to pull the mask away from his face. Instantly, she wished she hadn’t. He cried out and threw up a hand to cover it, but it was too late; the image of that dead, torn yellow skin stretched taut across his skull, that swollen lip and that half-melted nose was seared into her mind.

“Damn it!” he howled as Whitley ran away from him. “Why the hell would you–” He cut himself off and dug the fingers of his right hand into her wrist, and she glanced back at him fearfully. “Is  _ this  _ what you wanted to see?” She flinched away from him as he uncovered it again, but out of the corner of her eye she saw him put his left hand back up to his face.

As he shoved her to the ground and stormed to the other side of the room, Whitley tentatively pulled her head back up to watch him. He was spitting curses through clenched teeth, like he wanted to mutter them, but emotion kept raising the volume of his voice. “Now you’ll never be free,” he finally hissed, staring at the golden mask on his desk. For a moment, she thought he was going to try putting it on, even though it was far too small for his face.

Instead, he fell to his knees and stared at the floor. “It’s worse than you imagined. Are you strong enough to accept it?” He looked over at Whitley, who couldn’t meet his uncovered eye. He scowled and turned away. “No, you can’t bear to even  _ think  _ of me…a loathsome gargoyle, who belongs in the darkness but yearns for the light.” 

She opened her mouth to try to say something to him, but she found herself unable to form any words, consoling or otherwise. 

The Phantom looked down at the fingerless glove on his right hand. He lifted it up and brought his bare left hand to it, like he was about to pull the glove off, but suddenly dropped his right hand to the floor like it was on fire and covered his face again with his left. “Whitley,” he declared, looking back at her, “you’ll learn to see – to find the man behind the monster. In time,  _ your  _ fear can turn to love, too…” He tried to crawl towards her, which was difficult to do without taking his hand off his face. However, as soon as he lowered his hand again, Whitley flinched away and he stopped, putting his hand back up. “Even a beast,” he choked out, “even a beast secretly dreams of beauty…”

She slowly looked back at him, meeting his uncovered eye once more. “Oh, Whitley…” he whispered. He turned away from her so she couldn’t see his face, even covered by his hand. He hunched over, breathing heavily, utterly ashamed.

Whitley could physically feel the overwhelming sorrow and loneliness that filled every word he spoke. It was almost impossible to believe that this pitiful man was the same as the mysterious Phantom who was in control of all the inner workings of the Musical Theater. Compassion filled her heart and she yearned to ease his pain somehow. Then she remembered that she was still holding his mask. 

He gratefully accepted the mask when Whitley offered it to him, but he turned away from her as he put it back on. She didn’t know if that was for her benefit or for his own. It was incredible how the mask fit perfectly over his deformed features, giving the illusion of a perfectly shaped face underneath that pure white veneer. Like she had noticed the night before, his lip was swollen, but it looked like it was just the result of an odd shadow cast on his face by the mask. 

The Phantom slowly got to his feet, smoothing his hair and gathering his emotions back up before facing Whitley again. He walked to her side and extended a hand to help her to her feet. “Come, we must return,” he said, swallowing hard. “Those two idiots who run my Theater now will be looking for you.”

Whitley followed him over to the curtain against which Meloetta was leaning. She politely got to her feet and pulled aside the curtain, revealing a dark staircase which spiraled up into a faint light. The Phantom gripped her hand tightly as he led her up the stairs, as if afraid she would disappear before he was ready. Meloetta let the curtain fall back into place, cutting off the dim glow coming from the Phantom’s lair. The only light left was the one above them.

There were many things that Whitley wanted to ask the Phantom before she left him, but she wasn’t sure if she should. After the mask incident, she was afraid of angering him by asking him questions that he didn’t want to answer. Then she realized that she didn’t even know how to begin forming a question to him.

Whitley cleared her throat loudly. He glanced back at her sharply, and for a moment she forgot how to form words. But she steeled her nerves enough to stammer out, “Erm…h-how shall I address you?” 

The muscles in his face relaxed and his glare softened into a gaze. He must have been expecting a probing question – and her question was, but worded so innocently that it could be as intrusive or as unobtrusive as he allowed it to be. Such like Whitley. “Of course,” he said. “You may call me Hugh. But to no one else!” he added. “To others, call me your angel, and nothing more.”

“Hugh,” Whitley echoed. It had a mysterious ring to it; how fitting for a man like him!

He gave her a slight nod and continued upward. Within moments, they reached the top of the staircase, which led into a small corridor lit by a string of tiny fluorescent bulbs. At the far end of the corridor, there was a wooden ladder built into the wall that led up to a trapdoor. He climbed up the ladder and pushed the door open into a dark hallway not unlike the one into which he had first pulled her. Of course, she supposed that all dark corridors in the walls must look the same due to the absence of light, which was the case in this corridor once Hugh closed the trapdoor.

They continued along the corridor for a few feet before turning a corner, then turning another corner, and finally up a flight of stairs. This staircase was dimly lit, and she could see that it continued up another floor. They continued along the corridor in silence, occasionally hearing snippets of conversation from someone they passed beside. From these conversations, Whitley surmised that they were next to the main dressing rooms of the Theater, in the area known as Show Wing North. The dressing rooms which doubled as bedrooms for the boarders such as herself were located on this floor, but further along the corridor, in Show Wing West. This made enough sense; he had taken her from her room and now he was returning her to it.

However, as they neared the place where Whitley estimated her room should be, she heard a familiar voice on the other side of the wall. “So how did he do it?” 

_ Blake! _

Hugh stopped and muttered something under his breath, and Whitley pressed her ear to the wall, hoping to hear more. Blake must be talking to Foongy; she was suddenly overwhelmed with a desire to see them both. Foongy said something energetically; there was a moment’s pause, and then Blake said, louder than before, “The mirror. You say he pulled her through the mirror.”

Whitley found herself being pulled away from the wall by Hugh, whose eyes were blazing with anger once more. She opened her mouth to protest, but he clapped a gloved hand over her mouth and dragged her away. Then she heard Blake yell, and a loud thud that echoed through the corridor. She didn’t know if Hugh had anything to do with it, but she worried all the same. 

He didn’t let go of her until he had dragged her into what she assumed must be a more deserted alcove. “Wh-what was that about?” she demanded boldly.

He brought his face close to hers and hissed, “I will not be discovered on anyone’s terms but my own.” She recoiled and coughed at the ground; up close, he reeked of chemicals and sweat. She had lowered her guard for only a moment and he had reaffirmed her resolve to be wary of her words around him.

Hugh turned away from her. “You’ll not be going back that way while  _ he _ is still there,” he said with a hint of scorn. “The stage may still be empty at this hour. Come.” He took her hand to pull her back into motion.

However, Whitley was not ready to leave their quiet space just yet. “Hugh,” she said softly, drawing his attention. It sounded so much more beautiful the way she said it. “I…I’m sorry.” His eyes widened, but he said nothing. “For just now…and for the mask thing, too.”

Hugh closed his eyes and scoffed. “That wasn’t your fault.”

“What?”

“Meloetta sings with a special vocalization method that can control the feelings of those who hear her song. I have spent enough time around her that it has no effect on me, but I recognize when she is using that power.” 

Whitley was puzzled. “Why would your Pokémon…?”

“My Pokémon!” He laughed, a harsh laugh that echoed around the corridor. “I have no Pokémon. Meloetta only hangs around me because we share a dream, a dream to fill the stages of this Musical Theater with only the best performers and musicians. Unfortunately…in Meloetta’s eyes, that group includes me.”

Privately, Whitley had to admit that she agreed with Hugh’s judgment regarding his suitability for musical theatre. However, she didn’t understand how seeing his face would help Meloetta get him onstage, especially when she was now sure that she didn’t want to  _ see _ him onstage. She immediately felt guilty for thinking this, though, and she internally vowed never to say it out loud. 

“Come along, then,” Hugh said. “Unless…” He hesitated. “You had something else you wanted to ask?” 

He wasn’t looking at Whitley when he said this, so she couldn’t tell if he was annoyed or eager to answer her questions. She hoped it was the latter, because there was one thing that had been bothering her since she met him. “You always told me that you were the Angel of Music,” she began cautiously. “But you’re not…you’re just a man.” 

She paused, waiting to see if he would correct her or perhaps apologize for lying to her. But he said nothing, and she bit her lip nervously. She had to summon all her courage to finish her query. “Why did you lie to me about your identity?”

Whitley looked down, bracing herself for a display of rage, but it never came. She glanced back up at Hugh’s eyes and the only emotion she saw was a hint of disappointment as he said, “I do wish you wouldn’t make it out to be so terrible. You were only a child then, and you didn’t need a ghost or a phantom or a man who lives in the walls. You needed an angel, and I was willing to play that role for you. I could not have gained your trust otherwise.”

She felt suddenly uncomfortable at the realization that a grown man had been giving her music lessons in her own bedroom since she was a teenager, but she knew that only proved his point. Besides, he had never made her feel uncomfortable or violated in any way…or was that just because she thought he was incapable of lustful urges? “B-but why?” Whitley asked, dread creeping into her voice. “Why did you want to teach an orphaned, talentless child to sing?”

“You are not talentless, Whitley,” Hugh gently chastised her. “You were simply nursing a broken heart, and you needed a little push to help it heal. I promise you, I had no intention of taking advantage of your innocence in any way.”

This was a little reassuring to Whitley, so now she was simply confused. “So why  _ me _ ?” she asked. “You couldn’t have heard me sing before I lost heart, so what made me different than any other chorus girl?”

Hugh knew exactly why she was different from anyone else in the whole Musical Theater, beyond just her voice. However, he knew he couldn’t explain to Whitley why he felt such a kinship with her from the first day they met. Not now. He wasn’t mentally prepared to explain it in a way that she could understand right now.

Instead, he told her, “Because you were – you  _ are _ – immeasurably kind, Whitley. I hoped it would bring me happiness to entreat you to the only kindness I could think to offer.”

“And did it?” Whitley dared to ask.

A smile gleamed in his eyes. “Yes.”  _ But not in the way I expected. _

Whitley found a smile making its way onto her face as well for the first time that morning. Happy Hugh was very pleasant to be around, much more so than angry Hugh. She wanted to see him smiling more often.

Wait – she did? The thought surprised her, but she had to admit it was true. His face was nothing to be disgusted by as long as he had his mask on, and there was something charming about that childlike grin of his. Spending a night in his home was an exhilarating adventure, but surely there was no reason she had to go down there every time she wanted to see him. 

She was about to ask him if they could start having lessons in person when he took her hand again and said, “Follow me, and be quiet. I want to show you something.”

He brought her out of the alcove, down a corridor, and up another staircase. He moved swiftly and silently, like a cat, and Whitley struggled to keep up with him and keep her footsteps light. Soon, they arrived in a curved corridor that was punctuated periodically by what appeared to be air conditioning vents, which allowed thin streaks of light to filter through. Hugh walked over to one and used a slide on the side of the vent to slide the slats of the vent up like a blind, allowing him to peer through. After a moment, he stepped aside and gestured for Whitley to come and look.

The view was marvelous. Through the vent, she could see the whole theater spreading out beneath her, forming a soft red carpet of seats. The six personal viewing boxes that composed her royal retinue were fanned out on either side of her. The theater’s majestic crystal chandelier was hanging only a few feet away from her, glittering and sparkling with reflected light. She was close enough to the ceiling that she could see where it had been patched after the chandelier was replaced years ago. The stage was covered by dark red velvet curtains; the little piece of the stage that peeked out from underneath the curtain still shone with wax polish. Mr. Reyer and Buquet were conversing on the edge of the stage, but they were just insignificant specks in the beautiful landscape. Whitley felt like a queen gazing down upon her domain. “Breathtaking, isn’t it?” the king’s voice whispered in her ear.

Whitley nodded, still enthralled. She stepped away from the vent to allow Hugh to slide the slats back into place, and then followed him further down the corridor. At the end was a wooden door that swung easily, though he only pushed it open a crack. He pulled away from it almost immediately, shaking his head. “They’re already starting to set up for rehearsal,” he said. “We’ll have to go to the musical wing.”

The musical wing was the original Musical Theater, where Pokémon Musicals still took place. It was about 10 years older than the expansion, originally built as a theater for musicals that only people performed in. These musicals, however, experienced a sharp decline in popularity and eventually the theater was shut down. It remained empty for several years, until White pitched the idea of the Pokémon Musical to the Nimbasa City Council and the council decided to turn the theater into a theater for Pokémon Musicals. Three years after that renovation, the city council accepted her proposal to expand the theater to include a new, bigger stage for people and Pokémon to perform musicals together; thus, the Musical Show was born.

The difference in architectural styles between the two parts of the theater was immediately apparent, as there were no corridors hidden in the walls for Hugh and Whitley to traverse. Instead, they walked across the attic above the Theater’s administrative offices. There was an office for every manager who worked in the building, so those who didn’t need the space rarely used them. Each office had a closet, and each closet an entrance into the attic. Some of the entrances were unmarked; others had a title or abbreviation scribbled on them. Hugh stopped next to one marked “BW”. 

He opened the door and sat down on the edge of the opening, letting his legs dangle down. Then he motioned for Whitley to sit down on his lap. She hesitantly obeyed. He hooked an arm under her legs and another under her back and neck, then slipped off the side of the opening. The fall happened so fast she didn’t have time to make a sound. He landed deftly on a foot and knee and gently placed her on the ground.

Hugh produced a note from his pocket, wrapped around something small, and pressed it into Whitley’s hand. “Goodbye for now, my dear,” he murmured, warmth and sorrow mixed in his voice. He stood up and knocked loudly on the closet door, then jumped up and grabbed the edge of the entrance to the attic. He hoisted himself up and melted back into the darkness. Whitley caught one last glimpse of his masked face watching over her; then the door closed, and he was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you guess correctly which character the Phantom is? :D
> 
> This chapter was structured around the “I Remember/Stranger Than You Dreamt It” scene from the musical, and some of Hugh’s dialogue is borrowed from this song. The majority of the chapter, though, is unique to my story because I wanted to give you guys a better sense of who Hugh is and how he feels about Whitley. There’s still plenty more to learn about him, of course, but this is a good introduction.
> 
> The Pansage music box is a reference to the monkey music box from the musical, obviously. I chose Pansage over the other two elemental monkeys because it's one of the Pokémon used by NPCs in Pokémon Musicals in both the games and Spe - though that applies to Panpour as well, I think that White likes Grass-type Pokémon better than Water-type Pokémon because of Amanda and Darlene. (The reason White's preferences are relevant to this will be explained later.)
> 
> I didn’t talk about it last chapter because I wasn’t sure if people would recognize her, so I’ll talk a little bit now about the choice of Meloetta as the Phantom’s Pokémon. It was kind of obvious that I’d have to include the Melody Pokémon in a Pokémon/Phantom crossover, and it would make sense that Meloetta would be drawn to the Phantom with his musical prowess. The only problem was that I didn’t want to make him a Pokémon Trainer since one of the main themes of Pokémon is the friendship between Pokémon and their Trainers. I had to compromise a little by making Meloetta help Hugh out without actually being his friend, which retains his loneliness – and also may or may not cause conflict later on. ;)
> 
> Hugh’s facial deformity is a bit of a blend of the musical and book deformities. The swollen lip and the fact it only affects half of the face are taken from the musical, while the deathlike appearance of his face is similar to the book. The “half-melted nose” is my homage to the original Phantom’s missing nose. I didn’t go into much detail with the description here because Whitley really only gets a quick look at it, but essentially his left nostril is caved in on itself so that it looks like somebody took a candle and melted that half of his nose.
> 
> Also, just so we’re clear: Hugh’s deformity is on the _left_ side of his face, and his dominant hand is his _left_ hand. At the beginning of the scene, he’s only wearing a glove on his right hand. It goes back to that old superstition about the left being associated with evil. (It's actually really interesting where that idea comes from - if you're interested, here's a cool article about it: http://allthatsinteresting.com/left-handedness-evil)
> 
> Before you get mad about the “Meloetta controlling Whitley” thing, just know that I got that straight from the Pokédex. From Black, Y, and Alpha Sapphire: “Its melodies are sung with a special vocalization method that can control the feelings of those who hear it.” Since other entries mention that its songs make other Pokémon happy or sad, it’s probably not meant to be that it can totally control people by singing, but I interpret it a hypnosis of sorts – Meloetta makes them feel a certain way and blurs their judgement so they’ll act on those feelings, but she can’t force them to do anything that they aren’t willing to do, which is why it doesn’t work on Hugh.
> 
> Finally, a shout-out to my beta reader, who suggested that Whitley ask Hugh why he chose to teach her. I had put in that line about asking for more questions from the beginning, but I didn’t know what question to have her ask. His suggestion made me think about asking why he deceived her, too, which made the chapter a bit longer, but it did allow me to give Whitley – and you guys – important information about Hugh’s intentions.
> 
>  
> 
> **Up next: White has a little chat with each of our main protagonists.**


	7. Interrogation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Announcement: I've added a new story to The Musical Archives! I'd recommend checking it out after you finish this chapter, or else the second half will be a little anticlimactic. Without further ado, enjoy~!

Suddenly, the door to the closet opened and bathed Whitley in light. She looked to her right and saw Ms. Lefévre standing over her. "Whitley!" she exclaimed. "Everyone's been looking for you! How did you end up on the floor of my closet?" Then she followed Whitley's gaze to the ceiling. "You came from the attic, did you?"

White looked down at the brown-haired girl, who still seemed to have her attention focused on something in some other reality. Her face was pale, and there was a distant look in her eye. White didn't know Miss Daaé all that well, but she didn't think this behavior was normal for her. She helped Whitley to her feet and noticed a crumpled note in her hand. "What's that note you have there?" White asked.

Whitley stared at the note like she wasn't sure it was actually there. Finally, she murmured, "He gave it to me…"

"Who gave it to you?"

"H…he did. The angel," she stuttered. "The Angel of Music gave it to me."

White folded her arms thoughtfully. This statement raised so many questions, but she didn't want to overwhelm the poor child. One step at a time. "Why don't you sit down?" she said, gesturing to the chair opposite her desk. "I'll get you a glass of water, and then we'll have a chat."

Whitley nodded and sat down. She hadn't thought about how she would explain to others what happened to her, so her first instinct was to fall back on the one thing that Hugh had told her to do: "To others, call me your angel, and nothing more."

White placed a plastic cup of water on the desk in front of Whitley and took a seat on the other side. She waited until Whitley had taken a sip before beginning her interrogation. She figured she would start with simple yes or no questions, and move to the more difficult questions later. "The one who left you in my closet…was the Angel of Music, correct?" White asked.

Whitley nodded.

"Have you met him before?"

Whitley hesitated, then shook her head.

"Did you just meet him in my closet?"

Whitley shook her head.

"Where did you meet him, then?"

"M-my room."

"This morning?"

"Last night."

"So you spent the night with him?" White asked dubiously. "Where was that?"

Whitley bit her lip. "I will not be discovered on anyone's terms but my own," Hugh had said. People knew about the Phantom, but no one really knew who Hugh was…and for now, he didn't seem to want them to. She could accept that, but now she was beginning to wonder if she had said too much just by saying that she had met him in her room. She decided the best course of action was just to shut up about it. "I-I'm sorry, I can't say," she said, getting to her feet. "But I need to get ready for rehearsal…"

"Don't be ridiculous, you just had a huge performance last night," White said. "Which you performed splendidly at, by the way. You shouldn't need to rush out to anything."

"I'm sorry, but I believe that decision should be up to my managers, not you," Whitley declared bravely.

White opened her mouth to respond, but suddenly there was a knock on the door. Whitley opened it and found Mrs. Giry on the other side. "M-miss Daaé!" Mrs. Giry exclaimed. "How did you end up in the BW Agency office, dear?"

"A-an accident," she replied lamely.

"An accident," Mrs. Giry repeated, narrowing her eyes at Whitley. The two women stared at each other silently. Finally, Mrs. Giry sighed and said, "Well, you had the rest of us worried sick, vanishing without a trace like that. I ought to go tell them you're all right."

"Would you like me to bring her back to her room?" White offered from behind.

"Oh! White, you are here," Iris said. "Actually, I came here to give you the list of actors that Mr. André needs for the next performance. If you could get the paperwork started on that while I go tell the managers that Miss Daaé has returned, I'll come back for her."

White accepted the list from Iris and scanned it quickly; there were only a couple requests for Pokémon that she didn't already have on hand. Those would be with her agent at Pokéstar Studios. She decided to call him up and ask him to transfer them over quickly, and then she'd ask Whitley more questions about her disappearance.

While Ms. Lefévre was on her Xtransceiver, Whitley slumped back into the chair. She didn't want to talk about her night with Hugh, she didn't want to be stuck in an office with White Lefévre, and she didn't want to be treated like an incompetent little kid who was incapable of walking back to her room by herself. Hugh's note was still in her hand, but she had no idea what it might say and was a little wary of opening it up with someone else around.

Curiosity soon won her over, though, and she carefully unfolded the note. Wrapped inside was a plain gold ring: smooth and flat, no jewels, no engraving. The note itself looked like it had been written by a third grader, a messy scrawl of red ink that was made even more difficult to decipher by the creases in the crumpled paper. Finally, she managed to make out the message on the paper:

_Wear this on your finger._

_Think of me when you use it…_

_-H_

Whitley realized too late that Ms. Lefévre wasn't talking on her Xtransceiver anymore. "So this Angel of Music also goes by 'H'?" she remarked, leaning over Whitley's shoulder.

Whitley yelped and pulled the note closer to her chest, even though there wasn't any point trying to hide it now. "H-he never called himself that before," Whitley stammered. "I don't know what it means." This was technically true, but she knew what it probably stood for.

Then the ring fell out of the note into Whitley's lap. "He gave you a ring, too. How sweet," Ms. Lefévre said drily.

Whitley decided not to respond to this comment, instead picking up the ring and holding it in her palm. Then she slipped it onto the ring finger of her right hand. It slid down her finger easily and stayed there, a perfect fit. The ring felt cold against her skin.

White stroked her chin thoughtfully. She was almost certain that she knew who this 'H' character was, but there was one piece of the puzzle that didn't fit with what she knew about him. "Whitley, why did the Angel of Music visit you?" White asked.

Whitley was saved from having to answer this question by the door being flung open, and Blake running in. "Whitley!" he exclaimed. "You're really alright!" He pulled her into a hug, surprising her. But his strong arms were comforting, and Whitley felt herself able to truly relax for the first time since waking up that morning. He pulled out of the hug, but kept his hands resting on her shoulders. "After you disappeared last night, I was so worried about you. What happened?"

Whitley couldn't meet his warm gaze and cast her eyes to the ground. "I don't want to talk about it," she mumbled.

"What?"

"I don't want to talk about it," she repeated, a little louder.

"But why–" he started to ask, but cut himself off. "No, I understand. That will be a story for some other time. You look like you need to rest a bit first."

"That's exactly what I told you, Viscount of Chenonceau," Iris snapped from the doorway behind him. He whirled around, a sheepish smile on his face. "But you just couldn't listen to me, hmm? Well, perhaps you'll listen to me this time when I say I'll escort the lady back to her room on my own!"

Blake gave her a small nod. He squeezed Whitley's hand as Mrs. Giry led her away. "I will see you tomorrow, Whitley!" he called brightly.

As soon as the door closed, Blake turned around and asked Ms. Lefévre seriously, "Did she tell you anything?"

"A little," White replied. "She said that she met the Angel of Music for the first time last night, and she spent the night with him."

"So she really was visited by the Angel of Music…" Blake murmured.

"You know something about it?" White asked.

Blake nodded. "When we were in grade school together, Whitley's mother told us many stories to entertain us. One of those was about the Angel of Music that visits musicians with a pure heart and teaches them, so that they sing or play with an angelic beauty. But I never believed that such a spirit actually existed…"

"Well, she certainly sang like an angel last night," White commented. Now she was starting to doubt the accuracy of her guess – her old friend couldn't sing like an angel. "So it seems our theater has an Opera Ghost and an Angel of Music."

"You mean – the Opera Ghost really  _exists_?" Blake asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Of course he does," White said, rolling her eyes. "Who do you think made that backdrop fall yesterday – a stagehand with too much time to kill?"

"Perhaps," Blake retorted. "I still do not believe in ghosts."

"I never said he was a real ghost," White replied. "He's a living, breathing person just like you or me. He just calls himself the Phantom of the Musical, and this season, the Opera Ghost."

Blake folded his arms. "And you never told me this before because…?"

"You never asked," White replied coyly.

Blake rolled his eyes. "So… _is_  he a stagehand?"

"He used to be my chief stagehand," White admitted. "He resigned after the chandelier accident – you might've heard the chorus girls talking about it."

"The accident…where the chief stagehand was killed?" Blake said drily.

"That's the one," White said. "Except he wasn't killed…that's just what they  _wanted_  to believe. Makes for a better story that way."

"What happened to him, then?"

White leaned back in her chair. "It's basically just as they say. We had just wrapped up our third season, and we were storing all the set pieces and equipment to reuse. I was short-staffed and a little overwhelmed, so when the chief stagehand asked me what to do with the fog machine above the chandelier, I just told him to take it down while I went and helped someone else. And instead of borrowing a Flying-type Pokémon to carry him up there, he decided to climb up  _on the chandelier itself_ somehow and take the fog machine down." She groaned and buried her face in her hands. "He was trying to do something with an Escape Rope to help him balance on the chandelier when I got back. I called out to him to stop, but…" She sighed and leaned back again. "Whatever he was trying to do with that rope didn't work, and he slipped off the chandelier.

"Fortunately, the rope was tied to the chandelier and it stopped his fall," White continued. "As I was flying up there on Barbara – my Vullaby – to help him down, he moved to grab the lowest tier of the chandelier instead. But for some reason, even though he had to use both of his hands to get there, he wouldn't hold on to it with his right hand." A pensive expression crossed her face for a moment, and Blake could tell that she had pondered this action many times. "But I suppose it didn't really matter anyways. Just before I could reach him, the chandelier fell. It's not like it was that old; I guess the chain just wasn't meant to hold that much weight for extended periods of time."

She paused a moment to lean forward and point a finger at Blake. "Now, this is where those girls' story really veers from the truth. Anybody else will claim that I used Barbara to save myself and abandoned him. But that's not right at all – Barbara and I dropped down right after him, but by the time I grabbed his hand, I could tell that she wouldn't be able to slow our fall enough before we hit the seats. Then, just as the chandelier started to shatter…the two of us were suddenly teleported to a chorus girl's bedroom, and we landed on the bed there."

"Who teleported you?" Blake asked.

White shrugged. "I still don't know. And that's probably why people are more willing to believe the ghost story than mine."

"Your story sounds more plausible to me," Blake said matter-of-factly. "So you landed in an unoccupied bedroom. Then what?"

"We had a…disagreement," White said cautiously.

"A disagreement about what?" Blake asked.

"I'd rather not discuss that," she replied stiffly. "It's personal. He went home after that and he officially resigned the next day. Everybody else thought it was suspicious, though, and since the next time he was seen at the theater he was calling himself a ghost, they all thought he had died and was now haunting the theater."

Blake frowned. "I do not mean to be rude, Ms. Lefévre, but if you have known exactly who the Phantom was, why have you never tried to stop him? He–"

"Because I've  _seen_  him!" White snapped, glaring at Blake. He met her gaze warily. She exhaled slowly, closing her eyes. "I'm sorry, that was unprofessional. This is a bit of a touchy subject for me, you see. I don't like to talk about it much."

"I understand," Blake said, politely nodding his head. He still had more questions, but it wasn't necessary for him to ask them immediately. He had bothered the Theater's owner more than enough for one day. "Thank you for sharing this with me, Ms. Lefévre. I appreciate it."

White breathed out a sigh of relief. "It won't go on forever," she mumbled to herself. To Blake she said, "Have a good day…Viscount."

"You too, Ms. Lefévre."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is the first one to be completely original to my story - no songs or dialogue from the musical used/referenced in this chapter. The musical kinda skims over what happens with Christine between her return from the Phantom's lair and the production of Il Muto (the next opera), aside from a later song implying that she didn't tell Raoul what happened. I wanted to develop that a little more in this chapter and the next. Oh, and I also wanted to include a chapter to give you more insight into White's character, as she becomes very important later on.
> 
> There are some kinda obscure references in this chapter, so I thought I'd mention those. The ring from Hugh is a reference to Gaston Leroux's The Phantom of the Opera, the book that the musical is based on, where the Phantom gives Christine a ring with the promise that he will always protect her as long as she wears it. Meanwhile, the text on the note is a reference to an NPC in the BW2 games who gives you presents after you make enough movies in Pokéstar Studios. She can give you either a Full Restore or a Big Pearl, the latter which is an item that literally only exists to be sold for a high price, but she always says, "Take this. Think of me when you use it..." Blake's question "The Opera Ghost really exists?" is a reference to the opening line of the Leroux novel: "The Opera Ghost really existed."
> 
> The chandelier accident that White talks about in this chapter is my version of the infamous chandelier crash that happens near the beginning of the book, right before intermission in the musical, and near the end of the 2004 movie (which is based on the musical). It was alluded to at the beginning of chapter 3, when Bianca was telling ghost stories to the chorus girls. The two big differences between my chandelier crash and the others are that mine occurs before the story begins and that mine was an actual accident - in every adaptation where there is a chandelier crash, it's caused by the Phantom. If you want to know more details of the accident, check out the next chapter of The Musical Archives :)
> 
> And, finally, now that you know a little more about White's relationship with the Phantom...what do you think of it? Do you sympathize with her, or do you think she should have done more to stop him? Do you think there's more to the story? Do you think she's even telling the truth at all? Or do you not care about their relationship at all and just want me to shut up about it and get to the romance already? I'd love to hear your thoughts~
> 
> **Up next: what happens when the managers won't listen to the Phantom's demands.**


	8. A Lovely Disaster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a long one this time, but musicals aren't put together overnight and I couldn't find a good place for a chapter break in here.

Preparation for the new production encountered continuous minor setbacks along the way. First, there was an ongoing debate concerning the casting of the prince: Leo was perfect for the role, but he wanted to perform wearing the foam dinosaur legs he had worn in the previous production. The writers had to add in a dream sequence in which he would wear the dinosaur legs to convince him to not wear them for the rest of the play. Then, there was an incident in which Yvonne's assistant Xavier went missing, only to be found a few hours later locked up in one of the orchestra's practice rooms. There were a few days where the Pokémon performers were uncharacteristically agitated and disobedient, and Yvonne's costumes had to be remade several times following various incidents.

The whole crew, of course, blamed the managers for not listening to the demands of the Phantom. They refused to pay his monthly salary, and they cast Yvonne as the female lead and Whitley in the silent role. Several people tried asking White to intervene, but she dismissed them, telling to let their new managers handle it. Once Iris finally convinced her that the managers weren't doing anything about it, White was too busy with her other work to get around to resolving the Show's problems.

Diamond had, on more than one occasion, suggested to Pearl that perhaps they should at least consider recasting the main roles, but these suggestions were always summarily dismissed. "We won't allow our authority to be undermined by some plucky fool with an affinity for childish pranks," Pearl told him. "We will  _not_ be changing any casting decisions just because this O.G. fellow doesn't approve of them!"

Meanwhile, to take her mind off of the chaos, Blake began taking Whitley to see various places across Unova on Saturday mornings – some she had been to, some she had not. They could only talk about the sights and sounds of a city for so long, so the topic of conversation usually turned to reminiscing about the past. While Blake wanted to know about the things that Whitley had been up to since they met as children, she was more interested in hearing about Blake's childhood – something which he had not been forthcoming with in the past, and she was curious to know about.

Blake usually deflected these questions by prodding Whitley to tell him more about the Angel of Music. The most she would admit was that he was still giving her lessons; she couldn't afford to let her voice fall into disuse while she wasn't using it at all in the next production. No matter how much Blake tried to figure out when and where she was having these lessons, he could not.

The Angel, for his part, did not try to bring Whitley to his home again, though he did voice his disapproval of "that nosy viscount" more than once. Per Whitley's request, they began to have lessons in person rather than through the mirror. Through this, she learned that he could see her through it because it was a two-way mirror, and that he entered through it by having Meloetta teleport the mirror a few feet away. There were mirrors like that in every dressing room, though he always covered the side in the secret corridor with a black cloth if he didn't have a reason to look through it.

Sometimes, for variety's sake, they met in the dance studio, where he entered through a secret panel behind one of the mirrors. He admitted that he used the entrance to talk to Mrs. Giry once upon a time, though he never explained why he talked to her. Beyond that, he never offered Whitley any personal information about himself. She did notice, though, that he was quick to drop the subject any time she happened to bring up Ms. Lefévre or Leo in conversation.

Finally, after weeks of misery and mystery, the day came for  _Il Dolore Reale_  to debut. Pearl insisted on viewing the performance personally from Box 5; Diamond reluctantly agreed to join him. The first act passed uneventfully, as Pearl was quick to point out to Diamond. "That fool doesn't have the gall to actually interrupt our performance," he boasted.

"Save the bragging 'til the performance is over," Diamond cautioned him.

The next scene began with the princess and her maid in the princess's room. "Oh, my dear maid. Please, won't you clean up for me?" Yvonne asked in a singsong, drawling voice.

Whitley nodded and began to make the bed, with a Minccino and Cinccino aiding her by pretending to wipe the floor. Then, there was a knock on the door, and Leo entered. "Good afternoon, my dear sister!" he exclaimed. "I wished to say good-bye to you before I leave for my retreat. I will be gone  _all night_ ," he said loudly, "and as much as it pains me, I cannot stay for a moment longer! Good-bye!"

As an aside, he whispered to the audience, "I suspect that my sister is hiding something from me. I won't leave, but rather hide just outside." He made an exaggerated motion of closing the door, and then stayed there, pressing his ear to it.

Once the door was closed, giggling erupted from the closet and a gaggle of girls holding various foods and beverages tumbled out. These were the princess's friends, who were responsible for making a mess of her room in the first place. "Ah, let us party to our heart's content!" Yvonne laughed. "The maid will clean up after us, and she can speak of nothing she sees! We have nothing to worry about, now that my brother has left!"

The girls began to eat and gossip, while Leo was seething with rage on the other side of the door. Whitley and the Pokémon ran around the stage cleaning up after the girls. As soon as they finished up cleaning one mess, a girl on the other side of the stage would throw something else on the floor. And so, as she ran around cleaning a seemingly endless number of spills, Yvonne sang, "Poor fool, he makes me laugh! Hahahaha!" She laughed again. "Ah, the boons of surrounding me with such riffraff!"

"Poor fool, he doesn't know! Hohohoho!" chimed in one of the girls, played by Yuki. "If he did, he surely wouldn't ever go!"

Yvonne laughed shrilly, and opened her mouth to continue the song. However, her voice was drowned out by a louder, deeper voice that boomed around the theater. " _Did I not instruct that Box 5 was to be kept empty?_ "

The audience wasn't quite sure what to think of it, but the cast and crew knew that this wasn't part of the performance. However, they were unsure of where the voice was coming from, and only two recognized it. A low murmur was starting to rise around the auditorium, and Whitley stared up at the ceiling of the theater, at the two rows of air conditioning vents that encircled it. "It's him," she whispered. "It's him, I know it is."

"Your part is silent, you little toad," Yvonne snapped.

It was very quiet, but Whitley could have sworn she heard Hugh say, "A toad, milady? Perhaps it is you who are the toad."

Yvonne snapped her fingers, and backstage, Shauna scrambled to find Yvonne's breath mints. A Pokémon handed the tin of mints to her, and she took it gratefully and darted to the edge of the curtain, where Yvonne was waiting for her to pop one into her mouth. She smacked her lips satisfactorily and returned to the stage. "Well! Let us continue, shall we?" she said cheerfully. "Maestro, from the top!"

Yvonne smiled and cleared her throat. "Now, my friends," she sang with an exaggerated vibrato, "let us party to our h- _ak_!" In attempting to hit the high note, she let out a sound somewhere between a hiccup and a low moan – well, rather like a toad's croak.

There was an immediate gasp from the audience, and all her costars stared at her in shock. Yvonne had never cracked a note like that before, least of all during a performance. She tried to hit the note again, and again, and again, and each time all that came out was a croak. "She's lost her voice!" was hissed backstage, over and over.

"Oh, no," groaned Diamond, and he and Pearl quickly abandoned their place in Box 5 to rush down to the stage. Some of the audience was laughing, to be sure, but some were horrified. That was exactly the opposite of what they needed. Someone had the sense to close the curtain, giving Diamond and Pearl time to get down to the stage as well as discuss their options. Reluctantly, Pearl agreed to do what Diamond had been advising him to do for weeks.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we apologize," Pearl announced as he and Diamond stepped onstage. "The performance will continue in 10 minutes' time, when the role of the princess will be played by Miss Whitley Daaé. Thank you."

The audience clapped as Pearl slipped back behind the curtain to fetch Whitley and get her changed. "M-meanwhile," Diamond stuttered, "please enjoy this performance of, um…the ballet from Act III of tonight's Musical Show…"

"What?" Cheren hissed.

"Cheren, the ballet, please!" Diamond hissed back before darting offstage. He did not return to Box 5, and neither did Pearl.

Irritated, Mr. Reyer and his musicians flipped rapidly through their music to get to the right page while the chorus girls scrambled into position onstage, and the set designers wheeled the right scenery into place.

The ballet scene took place in an open meadow outside the royal castle. The chorus girls danced elegantly with a small flock of Mareep, jumping and spinning like fairies. But as they danced, they were joined by another Pokémon, a Pokémon with flowing green hair and a black dress. The dancers ignored her, but the backstage crew were whispering amongst themselves, wondering where the Pokémon had come from.

Suddenly, there was an ear-splitting shriek from above, and someone fell from the rafters towards the stage.

The audience, cast, and crew gasped, but the green-haired Pokémon whirled around and pointed a hand at the falling person. If the Pokémon was trying to save her, it seemed that she failed; Bianca Buquet laid motionless on the stage. Cheren let out a strangled cry when he realized what had happened, and he clambered out of the orchestra pit and dashed to Bianca's side.

But just as he leaned down to check for a pulse, her head suddenly jerked up, smacking him in the face. Everyone stared in horror and confusion as Bianca slowly rose to her feet, every movement stiff and forced, like a puppet. Her face was twisted in pain. Then, she started to levitate into the air. One of the dancers noticed the black Pokémon's eyes were glowing blue and put two and two together – she was controlling Bianca with telekinesis. The dancer tackled the Pokémon, breaking her concentration, and Bianca fell to the ground for real. Luckily, she was only a foot up this time.

As soon as Bianca fell for the second time, it was like a magic spell had been broken. The black Pokémon vanished. There was yelling and commotion. The audience members were starting to panic. Chaos erupted backstage. She was sent by the Phantom, the crew whispered; he was the one who caused Bianca to fall in the first place. With everyone so riled up, there was no way they could continue the performance.

Blake left his box and went backstage, looking for Whitley. He didn't know if she'd seen what had happened onstage or not, but if the Phantom was a friend of the Angel of Music, this would be the perfect opportunity for the angel to come in and snatch Whitley away again. Finally, to his relief, he found her in a dressing room with Yuki and Mrs. Giry. "Are you alright?" he asked.

She shook her head. "I heard what happened from Yuki," she said, terror sparking in her eyes. Offering no other explanation, she grabbed Blake's hand and dragged him out of the room and up the staircase at the end of the hall, the only staircase with access to the roof of the Theater.

It was chilly, being early in winter. His suit kept him perfectly warm, but Whitley was wearing only the princess's dress and a thin cloak; she must have been freezing. "Why did you bring me up here?" Blake asked. "We should go back in–"

"We can't go back there," she said, determination strengthening her voice. "He'll see me there – he'll find me, I know it."

"Whitley, don't say that," Blake frowned.

"The Phantom of the Musical is always watching," she hissed.

"There is no Phantom of the Musical," Blake said, attempting to console her, but he could hear the lie in his voice.

Whitley shook her head. "This man, who taunts and tortures…I can't escape from him, I never will. The Phantom of the Musical…he's the one who's been teaching me to sing, the one who took me after I sang at the gala, Blake. He  _is_  my Angel of Music."

"What?" Blake gasped. "T-the Angel and the Phantom are…the same person?"

Whitley nodded.

Blake's mind whirred into overdrive. All this time, he'd been wary of Whitley's voice teacher only because he suspected that there was some connection between the Phantom and her Angel. Now he had his suspicions confirmed…but the truth of it only made him more concerned for Whitley. She was being taught by a criminal.

A  _wanted_  criminal.

"Blake," Whitley whispered, breaking him out of his worried contemplation. "I've been there…to his home…to his world. There is so much darkness there…" She almost looked to be on the verge of crying as she added, "And I – I've  _seen_  him, Blake…I can't ever forget that sight…his face, it's…oh, it's awful, Blake!"

Blake stared at her with a mixture of shock and pity. The question lingered on his lips –  _so why did you go back to him_  – but he knew she just needed someone to listen as she poured out all her fears and worries from the past three months. And as she turned away from him and stared into the darkness that engulfed the back side of the theater, her next words answered his unspoken question. "But his voice…it's so beautiful. I learned so much from him there, and…he writes music that touches my soul in ways you could never understand."

Music…of course it was tied to music. Music had always been a part of Whitley's life. There was her current career in the Musical Theater, of course, and Whitley's mother had played the violin for them when they were younger. Whitley had also shared with him stories of her uncles, back in Fiore, who were all musicians as well – music was in her blood, her bones, her soul. This angel, this phantom, whatever he may be, had connected with her in a way that he, Blake, would never be able to.

"Yet in his eyes, I see all the sadness of the world," Whitley murmured, dropping her gaze to the light dusting of snow on the frills of her dress. She didn't know what had happened to him that had forced him to live the way he did, hiding from the world and living a life of darkness, but she didn't want to contribute to his pain.

"Oh, Whitley," Blake murmured, walking around to stand in front of her. Lost in thought, she didn't react. "Whitley," he repeated, a little more forcefully.

_Whitley…_

She jerked her head up and glanced around wildly. "What was that?" she gasped. Whatever fit of courage or madness that had compelled her to drag Blake up to the roof suddenly abandoned her, and she fell to the ground, trembling.  _Is he here?_

Blake quickly bent over, whispering her name and offering her a hand. She hesitantly accepted it and he pulled her to her feet. Then he wrapped her in a warm hug, halting her trembling and allowing her to relax into his steady embrace, just as she had done so many times before. "No more of this talk of darkness," he whispered into her ear. "Forget your wide-eyed fears. Nothing will harm you while I'm here."

He pulled out of the embrace but kept his hands on her shoulders, relieved to see the hopeful glimmer return to her charcoal gray eyes. "Let me be your freedom; let the daylight dry your tears," he said. "I'm here with you, beside you, to guard you and to guide you."

Whitley allowed herself a faint smile. She remembered her Angel of Music telling her something similar, but the words meant so much more when they were spoken by a real, living person, someone she could see and hear and touch. And Blake wasn't the person she needed to be guarded from. His touch pulled her out of that frenzied, fearful place and restored her courage; she was not alone.

As Blake lowered his arms, Whitley whispered, "Say you'll guard me every waking moment, and turn my head with talk of summertime." She reached out and grasped each of his hands in hers. "Promise me that all you say is true; that's all I ask of you."

He gave her a sly smile, recognizing the words of a song they used to sing together as children. "Let me be your shelter; let me be your light." He started to pull her towards the entrance to the roof. "You're safe. No one can find you. Your fears are far behind you."

She stopped him with a gentle tug and looked towards the bright lights of the city below. "All I want is freedom," she murmured, turning back to Blake, "and you, always beside me, to hold me and to hide me."

A warm smile was starting to spread across his face. Back then, they never meant anything by it. But now, he was beginning to see new meaning in the words. "Then say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime," he sang, staring into her eyes. "Let me lead you from your solitude." He pulled her into another hug. "Say you need me with you here, beside you. Anywhere you go, let me go too. Whitley, that's all I ask of you."

She pulled out of the hug and met his warm gaze. "Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime," she echoed. "Say the word and I will follow you. Share each day with me, each night, each morning. Say you love me…"

"You know I do," he whispered solemnly, leaning closer to her. "Love me, that's all I ask of you."

She slowly leaned closer to him, and their lips met. It was a brief but meaningful gesture, reaffirming every word they had just exchanged on that roof.

Whitley didn't want it to linger too long. Pulling away, but still smiling, she said, "I have to go before they start wondering where I am." She turned back to the entrance to the roof. "Come with me, Blake."

Blake smiled and nodded. "Whitley, I love you," he murmured, too quiet for her to hear. She pulled him eagerly off the roof, heart light and cold forgotten.

But there was still one figure left out in the cold, on the opposite side of the Poké Ball statue, and his heart was shattered. Whitley's fear that Hugh was watching them on the roof wasn't just paranoia. He was there, and he had heard everything.

Every. Damn. Thing.

"I gave you my music," Hugh whispered mournfully to the door, knowing full well that Whitley couldn't hear him. "I made your voice to soar. And this is how you repay me?" he choked out.

He didn't understand it. She had continued to take lessons with him, she had been willing to meet with him face to face…

Well, no. She never met with him without his mask on, and she had never shown any interest in having him take it off. Maybe she was still…

But she had never told anyone else about him until now, not even the viscount. He had thought she was starting to accept him, perhaps even…

No, no,  _no_. He truly was a despicably hopeful creature. He should have known that a beautiful daughter of heaven would never fall for a hideous spawn of hell. All he had wanted was to ease her pain; he was never supposed to meet her in the first place. This was his punishment for getting too greedy again.

Then a little scrap of hope fluttered back into his chest – Whitley was too good to do something so cruel to him, wasn't she? Perhaps the viscount had just beguiled her into betraying him.

But their song still echoed in his mind: "Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime. Say the word and I will follow you. Share each day with me, each night, each morning." Those weren't the words of a woman who had been tricked into believing a lie…those were the words of a confession spoken from the heart, professing the words of trust that he had once believed she had in him.

No, it couldn't be. He had known her for eight years, and taught her for six. How could she have discarded him so easily for a stupid, arrogant, self-assured viscount? She was better than the others…she couldn't have just abandoned him…

But she had. As much as it pained him to admit, that was a fact. Whitley chose to trust the viscount instead of him. However, he could not hold that against her; she had been terrified when she saw him for the monster he was. He was angry at himself for fooling him into thinking that he could end his isolation just as easily as he begun it.

He would not give her up that easily, though. Whitley had given him a reason to  _be_ , a more meaningful existence than one of pity and spite. She  _had_  to return to him – and if she did not do so by choice, then so be it. There was no other option now.

As for Blake of Chenonceau, well…he would do all the Phantom asked of him, or he would hardly live to regret it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter borrows some lines from four songs in the musical. "Poor Fool, He Makes Me Laugh" is used in the opera  _Il Muto_ , which is about a woman who's cheating on her husband with a mute pageboy. I didn't really want to write a musical about an affair, so I changed the plot to something that's a bit more juvenile. It's supposed to be a comedic show, so I don't think it makes that much of a difference. Next is "Why Have You Brought Me Here/Raoul, I've Been There", where Christine drags Raoul onto the roof and tells him - presumably for the first time - what happened with her and the Phantom. I used the lines as the basis for the dialogue, but I altered most of them slightly to sound less poetic. That's immediately followed by "All I Ask of You" - like "Think of Me" and later "Masquerade", the words of the song carry a lot of symbolic meaning that I didn't want to lose, so I used the lyrics pretty much as they are and just made it so that it's an actual song in their universe. Finally, the Phantom's reprise of "All I Ask of You" (sometimes just called "I Gave You My Music") is really moving when it's performed, but the emotions come more from the way the actor sings the lines than the lines themselves. So I borrowed the first line and explained his feelings for the rest of it.
> 
> I don't think I mentioned this before, but the "foam dinosaur legs" that I keep mentioning Leo wearing are a nod to the Poké-Maniac-style monster legs that he always wears as a kid. I initially only included them for a gag later on, but after I wrote it I didn't think it was that funny and I thought about cutting them out completely. But my beta liked them, so he convinced me to keep them in. Was that a good decision? You tell me.
> 
> I know it's a common thing in Pokémon fanfics to replace common phrases that have animals in them with the names of Pokémon instead. But I wasn't about to change Yvonne's "little toad" line unless the change still made sense and sounded like an insult. "Little Palpitoad" or "little Politoed" still sound like insults, but neither of them is particularly slimy or gross (that's debatable with Palpitoad, but it's one of my favorite Pokémon, so I don't consider it to be). "Little Croagunk" or "little Toxicroak" would better fit the slimy and disgusting category, but they're also kinda dangerous, so they lose some of the condescension. It's a similar story for every other frog Pokémon, and it's way easier to just stick with the toad.
> 
> One thing I realized while writing this chapter was that in the musical, while the audience - and Christine - knows that the Phantom and the Angel are one and the same, there's nothing that really suggests to anyone else that that's the case. I mean, Raoul even gets a letter saying that the Angel of Music has Christine, and he doesn't think that the letter is  _from_  the Angel. He obviously figures it out at some point, but I thought it would be better to show the moment that he realizes the Phantom and the Angel are one and the same. It's a nice contrast to the dramatic irony of the last chapter where Blake and White assume that they're separate beings.
> 
> This chapter marks a turning point for Hugh, where he really becomes the antagonist of the story. What do you think of it, or the story as a whole? What do you think he's going to do? Your feedback is always appreciated :)
> 
> Oh, and I just posted a map of the Theater on my Tumblr! Check it out: http://mala-sadas.tumblr.com/post/175724100708/for-those-of-you-who-are-following-my-story-the 
> 
> **Up next: A trip into Whitley's past, and the morning after the performance.**


	9. Angel of Music

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the wait on this chapter, guys. I started work last week and it's been pretty difficult to adjust to, y'know, actually having to do things on a rigid schedule. A short one, but a good one - enjoy :)

_ Just outside the city, there was a little garden full of flowers. Anyone was allowed to visit it and pick a couple of flowers for themselves. I had never been to the garden during my two years at the Musical Theater, but on this particular day, Mrs. Giry had remembered the date and advised that I visit the garden.  _

_ Gardens always reminded me of Fiore, my home – its name means “flower”, after all. My mother and I moved away from the region when I was only seven years old, but I have never forgotten the beauty of the flowers there. I remember fields of lavender and bluebonnets, wild roses in a labyrinthine forest, colorful blooms in a florist’s shop, and so many other flowers that would be considered exotic in this region that I had always accepted as commonplace.  _

_ This garden did not have any of my favorite flowers from Fiore, but it was still beautiful nonetheless. Besides, I had not come to the garden to pick flowers for myself today.  _

_ There was no one else in the garden besides me and the gardener. He didn’t appear to be working with anything more dangerous than a pair of hedge trimmers, yet between his rough-looking work clothes, thick tan gloves, sun hat, translucent safety goggles, and green dust mask, he had not an inch of bare skin showing. I supposed he didn’t want to be sunburned while working in the garden all day. _

_ I glanced around the garden until I found the flower I was looking for, utterly relieved that they grew it here. However, as I glanced over at the gardener who was carefully gathering up an assorted collection of flowers, I worried that I should not just take the flowers on my own. Perhaps it was unnecessary, but I thought I should ask permission from the gardener first before I started haphazardly picking flowers.  _

_ I approached him carefully, for he was obviously an adult and I was only fourteen. When he had finished adding a chrysanthemum to his steadily growing pile, I cleared my throat and said, “Excuse me?” _

_ The gardener looked up at me, but said nothing. I felt a little nervous that I could not see his face through his goggles, so I could not tell if he was irritated or amused by my intrusion. However, I knew it would be rude to ask him to take off his goggles so I could see him better, so I simply asked, “May I pick a couple of flowers to put in my hair?” _

_ He nodded and returned to his work. _

_ On the south side of the garden, there were a few patches of daisies of varying colors. I picked the two white ones that looked to have the longest stems and attempted to weave them into the buns on my head. However, my fingers were clumsy and could not manage to successfully tie the daisies in.  _

_ Having no other option, I decided to ask the gardener for his assistance. “Sorry to bother you again, sir,” I said, “but I need your help. I want to weave these flowers into my hair, but I can’t do it myself. Could you help me, please?” _

_ The gardener grunted and gestured to his gloves, which I assumed meant he needed help removing them so he could weave the daisies into my hair. But when I pulled off his left glove, his whole body stiffened up. I didn’t consider that as an indicator that my assumption was incorrect until I took off his right glove. _

_ The flesh on his right hand was discolored and slightly swollen – it appeared that the back of his hand had recently been badly burned, as the injury was still in the process of healing. I found it especially curious that his fingers were, for the most part, in perfectly normal condition; the inflamed skin extended from around the knuckles to his sleeve, and possibly further. I couldn’t tell. Maybe it was the result of a Pokémon attack. _

_ I tried not to stare at his hand for too long, knowing that would be rude. Instead, I took the flowers I was holding and pressed them into his palm. “Thank you,” I said, smiling at him. _

_ He tilted his head at me quizzically and then nodded slowly. He set to work weaving the daisies into the buns on either side of my head, taking his time to make sure the job was done well. I tried singing a song to help pass the time, but even I knew it was awful – I had never had the heart to sing with the beauty my voice once possessed since my mother’s death.  _

_ “I’m sorry,” I said quietly once I had finished the song. “I haven’t sung that since…since I last sang it with my mother, before she passed away. White daisies were her favorite flower. I’m wearing them in memory of her. Today’s the anniversary of her death.” _

_ The gardener’s hands froze, but only for a split second. My mind was still caught up in memories of my mother. “She promised to send me the Angel of Music after she died, to help my voice soar to new heights,” I continued sorrowfully. “But the Angel must have decided it didn’t want to help me because I can’t sing beautifully anymore. I sound like a talentless freak.”  _

_ The gardener flinched. “Perhaps this ‘angel’ will come if you listen for him,” he rasped, finishing his work with my hair. _

_ “I’ve  _ been  _ listening for him for two years,” I said, choking back tears. “Either the Angel doesn’t want to teach me, or the Angel of Music was just a fairy tale after all.” _

_ I left the garden quickly after that, not wanting to cry in front of a stranger. But once I had safely returned to my room, I let the tears flow. Tears for my mother, for my voice, for the Angel. I don’t know how long I cried; it felt like an eternity. _

_ Finally, I heard a gentle voice ask, “Child, why are you crying?” _

_ “I’m crying because I’ll never sing again, unless the Angel of Music truly exists and comes to remind me how,” I sobbed bitterly. _

_ “Dry up your tears,” the voice commanded, gentle but stern. “You need not cry anymore. This Angel of Music has heard your pleas, child, and has come to coax the beauty back into your voice.” _

_ I blinked and looked around; there was no one in the room besides me. “A-are you the Angel of Music?” I sniffed, not daring to believe it. _

_ “I am your Angel of Music, child. I have come to teach you to sing.” _

* * *

Whitley woke up uncharacteristically early the next morning. Blake wouldn’t be allowed into the Theater for at least another hour, so she had plenty of time alone to think. 

How quickly had such an exciting night gone foul! Whitley had never played an individual role in a Musical Show before, apart from her last-minute substitution for Lady Gābena at the gala. She knew Hugh only wanted to hear her sing, so she had been thrilled at first when she realized he was watching the performance despite the fact that she had a non-speaking role. If he had only made Yvonne lose her voice, Whitley could have tolerated it; she had a terrible personality. But poor Buquet…why did he have to drag her into this?

Whitley didn’t know what Hugh had done to make her fall, but she knew Meloetta had used Psychic to catch Bianca just before she hit the stage. She directed all the force it took to stop her into Bianca’s left wrist, which broke the wrist but saved her from a worse fate. But then Meloetta had controlled her like a puppet, forcing her to move mechanically even as it hurt her injured hand. The way Yuki described it, the event was supposed to be more psychologically than physically scarring, and he seemed to have succeeded in that regard.

But it hadn’t just been Buquet who was psychologically scarred by the disaster. Yuki had passed by Lady Gābena’s dressing room while Whitley was getting changed into the Princess’s costume, and she heard sobbing coming from the other side of the closed door. She couldn’t believe that the pompous diva would break down like that, but she heard Xavier and Shauna attempting to console her with little success. Clearly, the humiliation of losing her voice mid-performance was incredibly distressing.

And after her confession on the roof, Blake was clearly concerned for Whitley’s mental health, too. He told her after she finished the performance that he would help her get away from the Musical Theater to get her away from Hugh, and she could follow his logic. It wasn’t the only theater in the world; she could easily find work at another theater where she wouldn’t be haunted by a man who lives in the walls. But the Musical Theater had become like a second home to her, Yuki and Mrs. Giry like an adoptive family. She couldn’t abandon it all at the drop of a hat. If she left the Theater, it would be when she was ready – and she wasn’t ready yet. She knew Blake would support and protect her no matter where she gave her performances.

“Good morning, my dear,” a soft voice said, jolting Whitley out of her musing. All her anxieties from the night before came rushing back. “You were splendid last night.”

“You weren’t.”

Whitley heard a sharp intake of breath and fought her instinct to wince. She knew it needed to be said; he had humiliated Yvonne, tormented Bianca – no one else would get the opportunity to call him out for it. But that didn’t make doing it any less painful.

“I wanted them to listen to me,” he said quietly. He sounded like a child who had accidentally hurt his friend because he was playing too roughly. “But they wouldn’t. So I gave them a reason to.”

“You hurt them,” Whitley murmured. “You hurt Yvonne and Bianca just because the managers won’t run the Theater the way you want it to be run.”

“I did it for you, too,” he pleaded. “You deserve the leading role. Doesn’t it anger you, that they wouldn’t–”

“Never to the point that I would deliberately sabotage a performance,” Whitley said, bravely cutting him off. “And Bianca – what did she do to deserve a broken wrist and a broken spirit?”

He didn’t respond for a while, and at first Whitley thought he had given up and left. But then she glanced at her mirror and realized Meloetta had moved it, and Hugh was leaning stiffly against the mirror frame. He was not wearing his cape or hat, and only the masked side of his face was facing her. He still wasn’t looking at her when he finally said, “Sometimes, things happen to us that we don’t deserve, Whitley.”

Mrs. Giry had told her the same thing after her mother died. Whitley wondered if Hugh was speaking from personal experience, too. However, she had to make one amendment to his statement. “That doesn’t mean it’s okay for us to cause those things for others.”

He jerked his head around and stared at her, fiery red eyes dancing with surprise. She took a deep breath and met his gaze, feeling much more confident having said that to him. She tried her best not to flinch as he straightened up and stepped into the room, never breaking eye contact as he approached her. “What’s done is done,” he said quietly. “If you wish to continue your lessons with me, I will meet you in the third orchestra practice room at this time tomorrow morning. If you do not…” He gently took her hand in his and pulled it closer to eye level. “Know that I have greatly enjoyed our time together.” 

He glanced down at her hand for a few moments, and Whitley was almost certain that he was going to kiss it. However, he evidently decided against it and let go of her hand. Then he turned around and left through the mirror, which Meloetta promptly replaced. Looking at herself in the mirror, she was reminded of the fact that she was still wearing her ruffled white nightgown, and her face turned a little pink at the thought.

As she changed into regular clothes, she considered Hugh’s proposition. He still wanted to teach her, which didn’t surprise her in the slightest. He had been a very good teacher, and she never had any reason to doubt that he sincerely wanted her to learn and improve. But despite the civil encounter they’d just had, she still felt a little uncomfortable at the thought of continuing lessons with him. After all, even when she confronted him about it, he never expressed remorse for his actions the previous night. 

She was just putting the finishing touches on her hair when she heard a knock on the door. That must be Blake. She knew exactly what he would say if she told him about her conversation that morning, but she didn’t want him to worry about it too much. When she was spending time with Blake, she wanted to enjoy it. And if she’d already made her decision, then there was no reason why he needed to know about Hugh’s offer.

The Angel of Music had already taught her to sing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Insight into Whitley's past and psyche, yay! If you don't know, Fiore is the setting for the spin-off game Pokémon Ranger. Kusaka and Yamamoto (the author and illustrator of Pokéspe) actually wrote a little mini-series based on Pokémon Ranger and, while only the first chapter's been officially published in English, the events are still canon to the series and therefore I'm free to use any of the settings and characters from there in this story. (I mean, I suppose I could anyways because this is an alternate universe, but...whatever. I like to stick to canon when I can.)
> 
> And for the record, "Fiore" actually does mean flower. In Italian. Which is weird because all the important characters are named for stars and other celestial bodies. It was really hard for me to come up with flower-related memories for Whitley to have in Fiore. Stupid misleading region name.
> 
> Anyways, I'm rambling. I don't have much to say about this chapter, honestly; it's more of a set-up chapter than one that actually advances the plot. That's probably why I originally designated it as a side-story interlude, rather than a regular chapter. But it's kinda important to the story, so it eventually got official chapter designation.
> 
> Costume notes! The gardener's outfit is loosely based on the outfit for the Gardener Trainer class in X and Y (https://bulbapedia.bulbagarden.net/wiki/File:XY_Gardener.png) and Whitley's nightgown is the same one that she wears in canon, except in white (http://jb2448.info/picture.php?/45877/category/2219).
> 
> **Up next: A costume party and a new player in this game.**


	10. Masquerade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's the 4-year anniversary of Black getting trapped in the stone, and to celebrate...here's a new chapter of PotM in which Black is actually mentioned! 
> 
> ...
> 
> ...I do ship Agency, I swear.

Music, dancing, and conversation filled the theater ballroom with joyful noise that rose up above the heat of the summer night. Iris watched the masked attendees glide and twirl gracefully around the floor from the edge of the room. She wasn’t one for dancing, but she loved to dress up every now and then, so she always attended the annual Summer Solstice Masquerade. This year, she was wearing a long, voluminous, green satin dress, with the lower layer being a light green and the upper layer being a forest green. The layers and sleeves were trimmed with mint green ruffles, and she wore a triple-string gold necklace with red and blue jewels in it to match her multicolored feathery mask.

Iris swayed to the waltz a bit as she watched the couples on the dance floor. Blake and Whitley twirled past her in their formal wear; Whitley was wearing a sleeveless white silk dress with a black band around the waist, while Blake wore a formal pink coat with silver trim that Iris thought looked absolutely ridiculous. It did, however, match their silver lace masks and the silver chain around Whitley’s neck – a gift from Blake.

Iris also noticed that Whitley was still wearing the plain gold ring that White said Whitley had received from the Angel of Music after her night with him. She remembered with a chuckle Blake’s panic upon seeing the ring for the first time; in his home region, it seemed, it was custom for one to wear a ring on one’s right finger as a sign of commitment to someone. Iris had assured him that the opposite held true in Unova, but he still seemed to fear that Whitley was secretly engaged to the Phantom of the Musical.

On the other side of the ballroom, Iris spotted White dancing with someone who was unrecognizable underneath his mask, a glittering mass of feathers, sequins, and sparkles. The only person she knew who would wear something so gaudy so fabulously was Ruby, a skilled makeup artist and extravagant costume designer who had joined their crew a few seasons ago. His red and black coat, garnished with gold, sparkled with his signature touch. Iris suspected he’d had a hand in designing White’s outfit as well, since the simple white sundress had been garnished with copious amounts of glitter.

The song ended, and many people changed partners or took a break from dancing as others returned to the dance floor. White and Ruby headed over to Iris’s side, smiling and a little out of breath. White took off her mask – a plain white domino – much to Ruby’s chagrin. “The masquerade isn’t over yet,” he complained.

“I don’t know how you haven’t suffocated in that mask yet,” White countered.

Ruby snorted, but took the mask off anyways. Then he turned to Iris. “Hey, I haven’t seen you on the dance floor tonight. Saving it for your husband?”

Iris shook her head. “I’m no good at dancing,” she replied. “And my husband has to work tonight. He’s a doctor, you know.”

“Is he? I don’t think I’ve met him before. How long have you known him?”

“Oh, I suppose we met about eleven years ago.”

“Only eleven?” Ruby’s bright red eyes sparkled with a mischievous intrigue. “But isn’t your daughter an adult?”

Iris rolled her eyes. “Don’t you try starting some scandalous rumors, now. Logan is my second husband; Yuki is my daughter by my first. He died of an illness years ago.”

“I’m sorry,” Ruby said, a little sheepishly. Iris waved a hand dismissively, so he turned to his brunette companion, a cheeky grin sliding onto his face. “And how about _you_ , Ms. Lefévre?”

“What about me?” White asked blankly.

“I know you're single right now,” Ruby said, “but surely you've met some nice guy in the past, am I right? What's his–”

“I'd rather not talk about it,” White said through gritted teeth. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go get a drink.”

As White headed over to the punch bowl, Ruby frowned after her. “That was awfully rude of her,” he grumbled. “She didn’t even offer to get punch for us.”

Iris glared at him. “It was awfully rude of you to pry into her love life!”

“I’m just curious,” Ruby said defensively. His eyes regained their mischievous glint. “And if it causes that much of a reaction, it must be interesting! What do you know about it?”

“Well, his name is Black, and he – oh, come off it, Ruby!” Iris exclaimed, catching herself. “If it causes that much of a reaction, you don’t need to know about it. Even I don’t know why it fell apart. After they broke up, she asked me to never even mention his name around her again.”

“Oh,” Ruby said, finally having the decency to look ashamed. “Sorry, I didn’t think…”

“No, no you didn’t,” Iris said brusquely. “But it’s not me you should be apologizing to.”

Ruby nodded, and Iris followed him over to the punch table. “My apologies for offending you, milady,” Ruby told White, bowing in a playfully chivalrous manner. “May I make it up to you with a dance?”

White relaxed and smiled. “Oh, it’s all right. But let me finish my punch first.”

Iris and Ruby each took a small glass of punch for themselves, settling back into an easy familiarity. Iris had known White Lefévre for years, but the upcoming season would be only Ruby’s fourth season on the crew of the Musical Shows. Yet he had managed to not only make a name for himself as the Show’s best makeup artist, but also to befriend the owner of the whole Theater. He possessed a unique charm and a penchant for making even simple things stand out, and it wasn’t just with glitter. Perhaps, Iris reflected, he could help heal a broken heart, too.

“Good evening, ladies,” a lanky man called as he strutted past them.  “And gentlemen,” he added as an afterthought. The man was wearing a brown polo and khaki pants, with a brown mask that had yellow cotton balls glued to the sides of it. His shoes and gloves were similar shades of yellow.

“How are you enjoying the dance?” White asked politely.

“Oh, it’s wonderful!” he exclaimed. “It’s just such a pity that our _Phantom_ can’t be here.”

Laughing, he jogged away.

Ruby scowled. “Does that man have no shame? First he has the audacity to show up to our masquerade dressed like _that_ , and then he goes around disrespecting people he doesn’t even know.”

“It’s a masquerade,” Iris reminded him. “People will act however they like, since no one will recognize them. They don’t care for propriety or etiquette.”

“But that’s obviously Mr. Firmin,” Ruby protested. “You can tell just by the way he walks.”

“Well, we can’t all be as observant as you, Ruby,” White said teasingly.

“You flatter me,” Ruby said, grinning. “But, honestly…why would he make a comment like that?”

“Well, a masked ball would be the perfect time for a masked man to appear,” Iris pointed out. “But Mr. André and Mr. Firmin don’t believe that there ever was an Opera Ghost. They think the whole thing was just an elaborate ruse set up by Blake and Whitley.”

“It probably hasn’t helped that he hasn’t done anything since the premiere of _Il Dolore Reale_ ,” White added. “Nobody’s seen or heard from him in over six months.”

“You don’t think he left for good, do you?” Ruby asked.

“Of course not,” she said matter-of-factly. “He doesn't have anywhere else to go.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“I know him better than you think,” White replied. “The Musical Theater is his home. He wouldn’t leave it just because the managers won’t listen to him.”

Ruby frowned. “Maybe he’s planning some major catastrophe for the theater to punish them, then,” he postulated.

“Oh, I don’t think he’d do something that devious,” White said.

“With all due respect, White,” Iris replied, “that assertion may have been accurate in the past, but I don’t think it’s accurate now.”

“What do you mean?” White asked, puzzled.

Iris nodded to the top of the grand staircase. Mr. Reyer was leaning on the railing next to Ms. Buquet, who was gripping it tightly with her right hand. While Cheren appeared to have put a little effort into his costume, wearing thicker-than-usual black glasses and black boots to go with his Riolu-inspired suit, Bianca was wearing only a poofy green skirt and a white blouse with puffy sleeves. Neither was wearing a mask.

“She hardly sets foot in the theater anymore, unless she’s subbing for one of the orchestra members. It’s been six months, and she’s still terrified of him. He’s proven himself quite capable of causing serious damage, Ms. Lefévre.”

White frowned. As much as it pained her to admit, Iris was right; the Phantom’s actions at the premiere of _Il Dolore Reale_ didn’t line up with the behavior of the stagehand she once knew. Meloetta had to have been working on his orders, after all. And according to Blake, he was also the one who had taught Whitley to sing like an angel. Obviously, she didn’t know him as well as she thought. And that thought led to a terrifying one – had she made a mistake in trusting him?

She sighed. “I know, Iris. I just…I want to believe he’s a good person. I still consider him a friend, you know…”

“Friends are supposed to help each other do the right thing,” Iris said quietly. White didn’t miss her unspoken words: _if you’re too afraid to do that, perhaps you aren’t really friends after all._

Ruby put a hand on his hip. “Alright, I’m hooked,” he declared. “What exactly is your history with this Phantom? I’m simply dying of curiosity.”

Iris shook her head vehemently. “It’s not something to gossip freely about.”

“I’m not a gossiper!” Ruby protested. “I keep important information strictly confidential. Even if it shouldn’t be.”

As they continued their conversation, the song changed again, this time to a jazz tune. Many people began to dance individually rather than in pairs, though Blake and Whitley continued to dance together. She laughed aloud as he twirled her. On the grand staircase, Cheren managed to pry Bianca’s fingers from the railing and brought her down to the dance floor, where she seemed to relax a little more. It helped that Moon, the theater’s physician, had joined in the dancing as well, so she could jump in to help Bianca if necessary. She had foregone a mask so that people could come to her directly if they needed assistance.

In the center of the dance floor, a woman in a short sleeveless dress with a matching pink mask was dancing while another couple hovered nearby. Her dress seemed to be Slurpuff-inspired; it was dual-layered, with the thin bottom layer being plain white and the thick top layer a light pink and shorter than the bottom layer. In addition, the top of the dress was trimmed in a hot pink that matched the elaborate bow placed on the rear of the dress.

The girl of the nearby pair wore a yellow mask with pink feathers on the side, but her brown hair curled behind her bare shoulders in an exceptionally ordinary manner. Her sky blue dress was floor-length and hung loosely around her body – probably fitted for someone with a different physique – and had a ring of blue diamond-shaped stones around the waist.

The brown-haired girl’s partner was wearing a full-face mask that exposed only his mouth. It appeared to be modeled after Pangoro, a black and white panda-like Pokémon that wasn’t native to Unova, especially because of the green sprig painted on near the mask’s mouth hole. He wore a simple black tuxedo and wasn’t even attempting to dance. He seemed immensely relieved when a rotund man in a red suit sidled up and began dancing with the brown-haired girl.

This seemed to irritate the blonde woman in the Slurpuff dress, but a moment later a smallish man dressed entirely in gray – including a gray hood that covered his whole head – offered to dance with her. She muttered something about how tacky his skull-shaped mask looked and accepted his offer. The Pangoro man took the opportunity to slip away to the punch bowl, though he did not take any, only glancing warily at the three who were already deep in conversation there.

Leo leaned against the stair rail, watching the others dance. He hadn’t bothered to wear a mask, knowing people would instantly recognize him by the foam monster legs that he had integrated into his costume. He was still quite fond of them, so he had worn a Larvitar-inspired costume – green coat and vest with a red dress shirt underneath, and a simple green baseball cap on top.

He was suddenly drawn into the dancing by another blonde girl whose hair was tied up in a ponytail. Her dress was actually a wide skirt with a nice white blouse that dovetailed in the back. White was the primary color in the skirt as well, but it was accented with light blue stripes near the hem and waist. Her mask was a bright orange, and she giggled as she spun Leo into a dip. Normally it was the man’s job to take the lead, but she was tired of waiting for a man to notice her – and this was a masquerade. She wanted to have fun.

Suddenly, a thin red mist began to creep into the room, starting from above the grand staircase and curling down to fill up the dance floor. The orchestra stopped playing, unable to see their instruments or their music, and so did the dancing. A curious murmur rose from the crowd. “Since when did we have a red fog machine?” Ruby asked.

White’s face paled. “That’s the one we used for _Red Fog of Terror_.” Iris and Ruby exchanged knowing glances.

The murmuring quieted when people heard a new song that crept into the room just like the fog. It sounded ancient, a relic song that was equal parts beautiful and disturbing when coupled with the red cloud that overshadowed them. Whitley balked; she recognized that song, and it brought back memories that she had been trying not to remember. But she didn’t need to be scared anymore, she reminded herself, especially not with Blake beside her.

The fog started to clear. And there, at the top of the grand staircase – _Hugh was back_.

He wasn’t wearing his usual white half-mask, donning instead a full-face red mask covered in winding lines like an artistic interpretation of veins filled with black blood. The rest of his costume was equally elaborate, similar in design to the mask but with thicker purple lines crossing his red suit. He also wore a black belt with a shining silver buckle. He was accompanied by Meloetta, as usual, who had been the one singing; her amber hair glittered with golden sparkles, and in her arms, she held what appeared to be a thick red book.

The fog dissipated completely, and Hugh slowly gazed across the masquerade attendees, noting with satisfaction that they were all looking up at him. His gaze lingered on Whitley for a moment longer than anyone else, but he found it easy to pull his eyes away when he noticed to whom she was clinging. He still blamed the viscount for influencing her decision to stop taking lessons with him, and he needed to stay calm now.

He began to walk down the staircase, each step of his sharp brown boots slow and deliberate. Everyone watched him apprehensively, not making a sound. A sly grin spread across his face as he asked, “Why so silent, ladies and gentlemen? I thought this was a party.”

As he approached the crowd, they parted before him like he was carrying an infectious disease that they didn’t want to catch. It was displeasing to think about, but he refused to appear as anything less than completely confident. “Have you missed me, _friends_?” he asked sarcastically as he stopped on the landing. Meloetta began to descend the staircase after him. “I’ve written a musical for you. Meloetta has the finished score.”

Meloetta stopped next to him, proudly presenting the red book in its arms. He took it from her and gazed over the crowd, finally stopping to stare at Buquet and Mr. Reyer. Buquet whimpered and took a step back, and Hugh smirked, tossing the score for the musical to Mr. Reyer. “It’s called _Don George Triumphant_ ,” he announced.

He took a step back and tapped his fingers together. “I advise you to take note,” he said, scanning the crowd again and finding satisfyingly that most everyone seemed to be afraid enough to listen to him. “My attached instructions are clear. Remember there are always worse disasters to fear.”

He locked eyes with Whitley while making this last comment, those beautiful gray eyes that used to hold nothing but innocent awe. They were certainly not awestruck now, but they were not afraid either – she had released Blake’s arm and was facing him stoically, almost boldly. She looked beautiful in that dress.

However, Hugh could not afford to be distracted now. There was a time and place for everything, but this was not the time nor the place to admire his love. He pointed a hand to the chain around Whitley’s neck, which quivered and suddenly snapped. The chain flew into his hand and he caught it, hissing, “Your chains are still mine – you will sing for me!”

Meloetta sent a Thunderbolt at the overhead lights, shorting them out and filling the ballroom with darkness. It was not total darkness, for the large windows on the north side of the ballroom allowed moonlight to shine into the room. However, it was dark enough that most people could not see the Phantom turn and flee up the grand staircase, flanked by Meloetta.

The room plunged into chaos as soon as the lights went out, with most people scattering to find an exit. The masquerade was surely over now. Whitley continued to stand in the same spot, now holding her hands on her collarbone where Blake’s chain had once rested.

Blake did not go to her immediately, instead pulling a Poké Ball out of his coat pocket and readying it in his hand. Then he sprinted for the grand staircase.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter is the beginning of the second act in the musical, which starts with the big ensemble song "Masquerade" and transitions immediately into "Why So Silent?" Most of Hugh's dialogue is based on lines from the latter song, while the former doesn't get any mentions in here because it's just a big metaphor. 
> 
> This chapter was actually one of the first ones that I started writing because there was so much establishing description to write, and it was a nice change of pace from the dialogue-heavy earlier chapters. But because it was written so early, it's received a lot of heavy editing. In fact, originally, Black and White's breakup was a result of Black having amnesia after getting out of the rock. I pared down the conversation to what it is now because not only does the amnesia thing not make sense given what we've seen of the rock in canon, but it also seemed wrong to spend a page of the story talking about White's relationship with a character that has no impact on the story at all aside from being her motivation to expand the Pokémon Musical.
> 
> Since this is a fancy costume party, there are naturally a lot of costume notes! Iris's outfit was originally going to be her Champion dress from B2W2, but then I stumbled across this dress (https://archives.bulbagarden.net/wiki/File:Iris_BW098.png) that she wore in the anime that I liked a lot better. Mostly because it's not pink. Blake and Whitley's outfits are based off of this fanart that I found and saved to my computer over a year ago that's actually the two of them at a masquerade ball, but I can't find the source for the life of me...if you're good with that sort of thing hit me up so we can try to figure out who the artist is. Pearl's costume was inspired by Buneary, which made a little more sense when it was a costume for TIerno but hey, it is a Pokémon from his home region. 
> 
> The rest of the characters with costume designs I wanted to make note of are the six unnamed characters. They are, in order, Y, Shauna, X, Tierno, Diamond, and Yuki. X and Y's outfits are inspired by the pieces of male and female clothing that the player can wear in XY that are actually modeled after Kalosian Pokémon - the Bamboo Spring Hat (https://www.serebii.net/xy/clothes/bamboosprighat.png) and the Sundae Dress (https://archive-media-0.nyafuu.org/vp/image/1389/90/1389900535151.png). Shauna's outfit was inspired by Amaura, and Tierno's suit - though it's not described in detail - was modeled after Corphish. Diamond's outfit was inspired by Duskull, but the reason why I chose Duskull was because it's a bit of a nod to the costume that Monsieur André wears to the masquerade in the musical, which is a skeleton. Finally, Yuki's dress was obviously inspired by Wingull.
> 
> I slid in a little bit of Iris's family history in here because I wanted to give some explanation for Iris and Yuki being related - this was before I wrote the prologue, mind you. I didn't want Iris's husband to be a nobody, but I couldn't think of any important male characters in Unova with blond hair. When I went just the "important male characters in Unova" route, i remembered Logan, Brycen's doctor who was training Black when he officially met Iris. I thought they'd make a cute couple, but he didn't make sense to be Yuki's biological father...so, second husband it was. "Giry" is her first husband's surname, by the way.
> 
>  _Red Fog of Terror_ is the name of one of the movies that the player can produce at Pokéstar Studios in Black 2 and White 2. Since White's canonically part of the creative team for Pokéstar Studios, I don't think it's unlikely for her to produce musical versions of Pokéstar Studios movies. Why did I pick that movie to reference? Easy. The Phantom's costume at the masquerade in both the musical and the book is that of the Red Death, a character from a short story by Edgar Allan Poe. Rather than having Hugh allude to a piece of real-world literature, I wanted him to allude to a story that already exists in the Pokémon world. Thus, his costume is based on the Humanoid enemies from _Red Fog of Terror_ (https://bulbapedia.bulbagarden.net/wiki/File:Spr_5b2_Humanoid.png).
> 
>  _Don George Triumphant_ is another example of replacing real-world literary allusions with Pokémon world allusions. Instead of Hugh's musical being about Don Juan, a legendary figure who's best known for being a libertine, I decided to make it about Don George, the reoccurring character from the BW anime who runs Unova's Battle Clubs. This story ain't rated T because of sexual themes, folks.
> 
> **Up next: Blake challenges the Phantom, but Ruby's learned some things about him...**


	11. Haunted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, so sorry to make you wait so long on a cliffhanger! I wanted to post a new story to TMA concurrently with this chapter, but the problem was that said story hadn't actually been written yet and finding the motivation to write has been tough for me lately. But I finally got it finished, and I wanted to post the chapter ASAP! Anyways, without further ado, here's the next chapter!

Blake raced up the staircase, intent on pursuing the Phantom. He would not allow that cruel man to torment his dear Whitley for a moment longer.

The Grand Ballroom of the Musical Theater was located at a much lower elevation than the rest of the building, so the grand staircase led to a small hall that connected to the musical foyer. This hall was known as Reflection Hall because its octagonal walls were all covered in mirrors. The endless reflections were a little dizzying when there were many people in the hall, but the mirrors had been in the blueprints and White did have to admit that they added a certain mysterious flair to the room. There were several open doorways leading out of the room, so people didn’t usually get lost in it.

The mirrors – unfortunately for the Phantom, but fortunately for Blake – made it impossible for anyone to hide in the room. He didn’t expect to be followed, so he had slowed down his pace once he was out of the ballroom. So when he saw Blake’s figure appear in the mirrors, he had no choice but to stop and face him.

“Viscount,” he greeted him. “How nice of you to drop in.”

“Do not waste your breath, _criminal_ ,” Blake growled.

“Oh, the little aristocrat has decided he wants to play policeman now!” he jeered. His exaggerated smile faded into a straight line. “I, unfortunately, have much better things to be doing with my time right now, so I’m afraid I can’t play along with your little game. Meloetta,” he addressed the Pokémon at his feet, “attack him.”

Meloetta immediately charged at Blake, and the Phantom darted out of Reflection Hall at the same time. Blake sent out his Dewott and commanded it to counter Meloetta’s attack while he continued his pursuit of the Phantom. While Dewott blocked her Close Combat with its scalchops, Blake followed his target out of the hall.

His target, noticing Blake was still following, muttered something under his breath and leaped over the Pokémon Musical reception counter, heading tp the backstage of the auditorium. The Phantom weaved around the set pieces, Props, and various other pieces of equipment backstage, and Blake found himself desperately searching for a glimpse of that red and black shadow among them. When Blake ran into a painted forest with no way around it and no Phantom in sight he finally conceded, with a scowl, that his rival had eluded him.

But Blake didn’t dwell on it for long; he realized with a start that the trickster may have led him away from the ballroom for as long as possible purposely so he could return and take Whitley away again while Blake was not with her. He assured himself that this was a hasty conclusion and not necessarily true, but it was a worrying possibility nonetheless – so he needed to make sure that his girlfriend was safe.

But as Blake turned around to return to Grand Ballroom, he ran into a different man dressed in red and black, who was holding Blake’s Dewott in his arms. “Is this yours?” he asked grimly.

Ruby had found the Pokémon in Reflection Hall, still engaged in battle with Meloetta. However, he could tell Meloetta was just toying with Dewott, holding back in its blows to give it hope that it could win when she could easily knock it out in a single attack. Ruby used to fight like that, when he was younger – except he didn’t plan to win those battles. Meloetta had the expression of one who always fights to win. And once she realized they had an audience, she had decided to wrap up the show.

With another powerful Thunderbolt attack, Meloetta had blown Dewott back and knocked it out. Ruby had been impressed in spite of himself by her power, and he wished he could have met such an elegant and powerful Pokémon as an ally rather than an adversary. Meloetta had vanished as soon as it defeated Dewott, so Ruby was left to focus on the battered Pokémon in front of him.

“This is Meloetta’s true strength,” Ruby warned Blake as he returned Dewott. “White and Iris don’t know how their alliance was formed, but Meloetta’s obviously working with the Phantom now. If you challenge him, you’ll have to fight her too.”

Blake shook his head. “That is a risk I will have to take for Whitley’s sake. Is she alright?”

“She’s a little on edge, but otherwise fine. The Girys are with her right now,” he answered. “White told me to keep you from recklessly challenging the Phantom.”

Blake stared at Ruby steadily. “I will not allow him to keep terrorizing the woman I love,” he said in a low voice.

Ruby unflinchingly met his gaze. “I agree that he should be stopped,” he said. “But White doesn’t, and she _is_ my boss. Thus, if you’re going to try to fight him, I’m obligated to stop you.”

Blake scowled. “I still do not understand why she is so protective of the Phantom.”

“That much, I can explain,” Ruby said. “I found out tonight that she and the Phantom have a bit of a history. But it doesn’t start directly with them – it starts with Iris.”

Ruby explained that Iris Giry started working at the Musical Theater after the initial renovations twelve years prior on White’s behalf, overseeing things before White arrived and continuing to do so when White left to train on the Battle Subway. Iris soon began finding short, unsigned notes notifying her about problems she hadn’t been aware of that needed to be addressed. She asked around to see who was leaving the notes, but no one knew.

Eventually, Iris decided to write a note to the person herself, asking who they were and how they noticed so many problems in the Theater. He said his name was Hugh and he was an architect with a passion for music, and he asked if she could put him in contact with White concerning the future of the Theater. Iris asked if she could discuss it with him in person, but he never responded – it was a few months before she heard anything from him again.

A few days after White returned to the Theater, Iris found a proposal on her desk which contained a blueprint for an expansion to the Theater and an explanation of how to use the expansion as a revival of the old musicals that combined human and Pokémon performers. It was accompanied by a note from Hugh asking her to pass the proposal on to White. But White didn’t want to do such a large-scale project when the Pokémon Musical was still young, so the proposal was shelved.

Two years later, after an argument with her now ex-boyfriend, she reconsidered the proposal and sent it to the Nimbasa city council, which eagerly approved it. Hugh agreed to help with the project before White even asked for his assistance, but he requested that they add secret corridors in the walls of the new “show wing” and an additional, hidden cellar for his personal use in lieu of monetary payment.

“And she agreed?” Blake interrupted.

“Well – yes,” Ruby said. “He was a skilled architect. She didn’t have any reason not to.”

Blake folded his arms. “I was not aware that the Musical Theater even had a cellar,” he said accusingly.

“And I wasn’t aware there were secret corridors in the walls,” Ruby said. “White has kept information relating to those last-minute additions very limited.”

“Why would she do that?”

“Because he asked her to? I don’t know,” Ruby sighed.

“And she never got suspicious of him?” Blake grumbled, shaking his head.

When the show wing was completed, Ruby explained, White went down into the secret basement to see the place for herself and ended up meeting Hugh in person for the first time. She was surprised to learn that her mysterious master architect was barely older than her, and that he planned to make the basement his home. She made an impulsive decision to recruit him as a stagehand, though she promised he could continue putting his input into the productions.

Hugh seemed to enjoy himself and was quickly promoted to chief stagehand because he was so skilled at it. However, he rarely interacted with anyone besides White unless it was absolutely necessary. That didn’t stop everyone from knowing about the mysterious chief stagehand who always had half of his face covered by a white mask.

White spent most of her free time with Hugh, since she didn’t have many other people her age to talk to. He was never very open about where he came from, only telling her that he had lived in the Musical Theater since it was restored. Even so, they each considered the other a very close friend. But, that all fell apart after the final performance of _Red Fog of Terror_ , when they had a terrible accident.

“The chandelier accident?” Blake guessed. “White told me about it last fall. They fell with the chandelier and were saved at the last second, but they had some sort of disagreement afterwards and he resigned.”

“It was his mask,” Ruby said quietly. “While they were falling, she accidentally knocked off his mask, and she saw his face for the first time after they landed. That’s what the ‘disagreement’ was.”

“Whitley saw his face, too,” Blake responded coldly. “He didn’t leave her alone after that.”

Ruby shrugged. “Things must have been different between Hugh and White. After the accident, he adopted the ‘Phantom of the Musical’ persona and stopped speaking to White. Everyone else thought he had died and was now haunting the theater. White offered him a higher salary and his own personal viewing box as an olive branch to convince him to talk to her again, but he just accepted her generosity and communicated only through notes to Iris. White still wants him to be her friend again, even if she subconsciously knows that’ll never happen.”

“Why not just seek him out?” Blake asked. “She knows where he lives, correct?”

“Yeah, but I think she’s scared of his face,” Ruby replied. “It’s certainly not fear of what he might do.”

“I see,” Blake said thoughtfully. As intriguing as the Phantom’s history with White Lefévre was, that wasn’t what he needed to focus on for the time being. Ruby had given him some vital information that told him how he needed to proceed. “Thank you.” Then, without another word, he strode past Ruby.

“Hey – where are you going?” Ruby asked, following him.

“To find Ms. Lefévre,” Blake replied, keeping his fast pace. “I need to know how to get to the Phantom’s home. I will get him out of this Theater for good.”

But when he arrived back at the ballroom, the owner was nowhere to be found. “Everybody else was clamoring to talk to her, too,” Iris informed Blake. “Mr. Firmin and Mr. André said that they would be discussing tomorrow whether they want to perform the Phantom’s musical, but since the Phantom is a threat to the whole Theater, not just to Musical Shows, his arrest, or death, or what have you should be White’s responsibility, not theirs.”

“Where is she now?” Blake asked.

“She said she was going home, because she needed some time to think about it,” Iris replied.

“I see,” Blake muttered. “And what about Whitley?”

“She’s in her room, with Yuki. However,” she continued, grabbing Blake’s sleeve, “she gave specific instructions that you are _not_ to come visit her. Is that understood?”

“But – why?” Blake asked, bewildered.

“She offered no reason, and I asked for none,” Iris said. “If I had to guess, she believes that he may attempt to see her again privately and she fears what he might do if you are there.”

“If he might attempt to see her again, she ought not to stay here at all,” Blake responded. “Could she not stay with you or I until this matter is resolved?”

“That is something you would have to discuss with her,” Iris said. “And since she requested that you leave her alone tonight, you _will_ leave her alone tonight! Do I make myself clear, Blake of Chenonceau?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Blake sighed. 

* * *

Blake showed up at the Musical Theater as early as possible the next morning, determined to find Whitley and convince her to stay away. He was _not_ acting out of selfishness or jealousy; he needed to ensure Whitley’s safety before he could talk to Ms. Lefévre about dealing with the Phantom. Yes, that was the only reason.

Upon arriving at her room, he knocked once before opening the door. She had not bothered maintenance to repair the lock after Foongy destroyed it, since she had a separate dressing room now and did not receive many visitors in her bedroom. Whitley was there, putting her hair up, when he entered.

“Good morning,” he said quickly. “I take it there was no trouble last night?”

“Of course not,” Whitley said, looking at him through his reflection in the mirror on her bureau. “Let me finish this, and then we can talk…”

She began to hum one of the songs that the orchestra played during the last night’s masquerade, an orchestration of a song that she only knew some of the words to. “Look around, there’s another mask behind you,” she sang almost in a mumble.

Having finally finished her hair, she turned around and looked at Blake. “You don’t need to worry about me, Blake. I’m fine, and I’ve got Foongy to protect me–”

“That mushroom did you no good when he kidnapped you,” Blake interrupted.

Foongy’s eyes widened and he screeched angrily at Blake. He probably would have jumped onto Blake’s shoulder and tried smacking him with his head if Whitley hadn’t held him back.

But even she wasn’t pleased with Blake’s comment. “Blake!” she exclaimed crossly. “That’s rude!”

He sighed and dipped his head to Foongy. “I apologize; that was uncalled for.”

Foongy huffed and snuggled tighter in Whitley’s arms.

“Well, we know what to expect now,” Whitley said. “If…if _he_ sticks so much as a toe through that mirror, Foongy will blast him with Spore and he’ll fall asleep in an instant.”

“That is a risky plan, Whitley,” Blake warned. “He may have new tricks up his sleeve yet.”

“Well, what do you suggest?”

“Move out of the Theater,” Blake said. “You may live with me, or the Girys, or whomever you like, but not here.”

“I don’t know…” Whitley said uncertainly, looking at the floor.

“What is the issue?” Blake asked impatiently.

“I – I’m afraid,” Whitley admitted. “What if he gets angry because I’m not living at the Theater anymore?”

Blake sighed. “You cannot live in fear of this man forever. To use a clichéd phrase – this Theater isn’t big enough for the both of you. However…there is another way.” Blake took Whitley’s hand reassuringly. “Ms. Lefévre knows how to get to the Phantom’s lair. If she will tell me, I can go there and drive him out of the Theater permanently.”

“You can’t!” Whitley gasped, clutching his hand tightly. “Blake, you can’t go down there! He’ll…he’ll…”

“I have to,” Blake said firmly. “Not just for your sake, but for the sake of everyone in this Theater. The Phantom must be brought to justice.”

Whitley’s lower lip trembled. “I don’t want to see him hurt you.” He started to assure her that she wouldn’t if she wasn’t there to see, but she continued, “Can’t you find a way to serve justice without putting yourself in danger?”

He looked at her uncomfortably. Whitley knew there was something he wanted to say, but he didn’t seem to know how to say it; she wasn’t sure that she wanted to hear it. “Please, Blake. I’ll – I’ll move out of the Theater if I have to, but _please_ don’t go down there.”

Blake breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you,” he said. “And do not worry – I will look for a safer option.” He didn’t tell her that he still intended to go through with his first plan unless he found another viable one.

Whitley nodded gratefully. “Now, I need to go talk to the managers about…my new part.” Blake didn’t have to ask her what part she was talking about. “Foongy, stay here, please. Blake, come with me.”

Foongy protested while Whitley carried him over to her bed, but reluctantly resigned himself to more time alone in Whitley’s room. He still shot the two of them one last withering glare before she shut the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So when I first started writing this chapter, it could be summed up in one word: backstory. The scenes at the beginning and end were much shorter, and the only reason Ruby told Hugh's history to Blake was "because I want to". It was just an excuse to share some of the incredibly elaborate backstory that I created for Hugh, and I put it here because Madame Giry shares the Phantom's backstory immediately following the masquerade in the musical. 
> 
> However, because of the nature of Hugh's history, there were some details that only Iris would know and some details that only White would know. To capture both of their stories, I decided to have them both tell Ruby during the masquerade and then have him share what he learned with Blake. But I actually didn't plan on using it as a potential source of conflict for Ruby and White - originally, she was totally on board with the whole "Hugh-ought-to-be-stopped" thing. Then I realized that that makes zero sense, given her earlier actions: either she doesn't want to antagonize him because he's her friend, or she doesn't want anyone else to get involved in trying to stop him because they don't know him like she does. (Arguably, Whitley knows him better at this point, but SHE'S certainly not gonna go down there and fight the Phantom anytime soon.)
> 
> Reflection Hall draws from a couple of different sources. The more direct one is the hall of mirrors that the Phantom escapes into after "Why So Silent" in the 2004 movie, which is in turn a reference to Erik's torture chamber in the book (a six-sided room with no escape from the inside where all the walls are mirrors). The less direct one is Kalos's Reflection Cave, a cave full of natural mirrors that gave the hall its name.
> 
> Ironically enough, while the chapter Masquerade doesn't reference the song "Masquerade", the chapter after Masquerade does - and like "Think of Me" and "All I Ask of You", it's just a song that exists in this universe. The symbolism of the song didn't really mean anything in Iris, White, and Ruby's conversation, so there wasn't much point in putting it in last chapter. Here, on the other hand...well, let's just say I was having a little fun with foreshadowing in this chapter. (There's a little bit of that foreshadowing earlier, too...)
> 
> If you have any lingering questions about Hugh's backstory, feel free to ask them, and make sure to check out the latest chapter of The Musical Archives! The story's called "Singing". 
> 
> **Up next: More notes and lots of plotting.**


	12. Planning and Playing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry to make you wait so long for this chapter! I got thrown off my usual groove when my internet went out for five days, and then I only thought about uploading in the wee hours of the morning when nobody would be around to see the chapter. To make up for it, for the rest of the week, I'll be uploading one chapter a day! Enjoy!

After he had time to look over the score, Diamond was very glad that he and Pearl had delegated the job of dealing with the Phantom to White rather than attempting to handle it themselves. They had more than enough on their plate just with that musical.

“Look at this!” Diamond cried, showing the score to Pearl in their office. “It’s so complicated, Pearl! I’m not sure our orchestra can even  _ play _ this!”

“It’s lunacy, but we can’t refuse,” Pearl groaned. “We can’t afford another cursed production, as the Phantom has reminded me.”

He gestured to a note written in familiar red ink that he had found on his desk that morning. Diamond picked up the note and read it aloud. “Dear Firmin, I recall you’re stubborn, a weakness I hope you’ll surmount. Perhaps you’d agree not to ignore me if I haunted you as something more substantial such as maybe the Ghost of your Bank Account.”

The Phantom’s mischief during the production of the last Musical Show had been very costly for the Theater. All the time and money that they spent replacing the props and costumes that he vandalized resulted in the production having a net loss. The Phantom would no doubt interfere with the profitability of the upcoming show if they didn’t produce his musical.

“There’s one for you, too,” Pearl said, passing a second note to his partner. At the same time, Yvonne strolled into the office and started looking over the score herself; Xavier and Shauna read it over her shoulders.

“Dear André, re: my orchestrations. We need another first bassoon. Every note’s overblown, and that third trombone has to go. The man cannot be deafer so please preferably one who plays in tune,” Diamond read, frowning. “But where are we going to–”

“This is outrageous!” Yvonne suddenly shrieked, throwing the score in the air and leaving Xavier and Shauna to gather it back together.

“Lady Gābena, please – what’s the matter?” Pearl asked wearily.

“Have you  _ seen  _ the size of my part?” she snapped. Shauna gave up trying to fold the sheet music and thrust it on Xavier.

“What do you think she is, a chorus girl?” Shauna said, putting her hands on her hips. “Honestly. It’s insulting!”

“Please understand, we don’t have much choice,” Diamond said placatingly. 

“You’re the managers,” Yvonne snapped. “Are you not the highest authority on the matter? Can you not reassign roles?”

“Not when the Phantom is involved!” Pearl shouted, standing up at his desk with such force that his rolling desk chair went flying away from him. He stalked around to the other side of his desk. “The Phantom assigned all the roles for his musical. If we change them, he’ll wreak havoc on us even worse than the last time! Is that what you want to happen?”

Yvonne’s whole body stiffened up, remembering her humiliating performance on the opening night of  _ Il Dolore Reale _ . Xavier handed the hastily folded music back to Diamond and rested a hand on Yvonne’s shoulder, allowing her to relax a little. Shauna, meanwhile, side-eyed the managers and remarked, “Seems like all you need to do is get rid of the Phantom, and our problems will be solved. And now, let’s see, who was it that was telling you to get rid of the Phantom months ago…?”

Diamond and Pearl exchanged glances, neither wanting to admit that they’d dismissed Yvonne’s complaints about the Phantom because they hadn’t believed in his existence. They were saved from an awkward silence by a knock on the door, which Diamond quickly hurried across the room to answer. When he opened the door, Whitley and Blake were on the other side.

Yvonne glared at her and looked away. “Miss Daaé!” Diamond exclaimed, acting overly cheery to dispel the tension in the room. “I’m so glad to see you! You have the largest role in  _ Don George _ .”

“I bet Whitley Daaé doesn’t even have the voice,” Yvonne scoffed as Diamond handed the score to Whitley. She began to look over it hesitantly.

“I take it you have agreed to perform it,” Blake observed, addressing the managers.

“We have no choice,” Pearl snapped.

Yvonne’s scowl slowly grew as she watched Whitley flip through the score. Finally, she snapped, “Are you happy, role-stealer?” Whitley jerked her head up and stared at Yvonne. “You’ve conspired with that Phantom long enough, and now you’ve finally gotten the new managers to give you the parts you want without question. Are you happy now?”

“What in the world are you talking about?” Whitley asked, both bewildered and angered. “I haven’t done anything like that!”

“You think I’m blind?” Yvonne retorted. “Everything that he’s done in this past year has been to advantage  _ you _ . You couldn’t advance in the Theater yourself, so you started working with him to force the managers’ hand!”

“No! I didn’t ask for any of this!” Whitley cried. “I don’t want any part in this plot!” She turned away from Yvonne and headed back to Blake’s side. 

“But why not?” Pearl asked, following Whitley. “It’s your duty!”

“I can’t sing it – duty or not,” Whitley whispered, deliberately looking away from him.

“That is perfectly fine, Whitley,” Blake said consolingly, putting his hands on her shoulders. “They cannot make you sing anything.” He glared at the managers as he said this.

A polite cough from the open doorway caught everyone’s attention. Iris and Leo were standing there; Leo awkwardly shifted his weight in his foam dinosaur legs and Iris held her hands behind her back. “I apologize for interrupting, but I have another note – addressed to all the parties present,” she said, nudging Leo into the room.

Pearl and Diamond groaned as Iris entered fully and closed the door behind her. Then she walked to the center of the room, unfolding the note as she did so. She cleared her throat and began to read. “Fondest greetings to you all. I have a few instructions just before rehearsal starts.”

She turned to face Yvonne and read, “Lady Gābena must be taught to act, not her normal trick of strutting around the stage.” She gasped, offended.

Next, she turned to Leo. “Our Don George must lose those cartoonish dinosaur legs,” she read. “They’re not appropriate for a man of Piangi’s age.”

Leo looked horrified by that opinion of his outfit, but Shauna muttered, “Someone finally said it.”

Iris turned to address Diamond. “The black-haired buffoon must remember that timidity will only get him walked all over.”

“I-I’m not timid,” Diamond retorted.

“My other manager must learn that his place is in an office, not the arts,” Iris continued, ignoring Diamond’s weak protest. She glanced up from the letter and smirked upon noticing Pearl’s face had turned bright red. She always thought he was too stubborn for his own good.

Finally, Iris turned to Whitley. For the first time, she hesitated before reading the note aloud, hoping not to frighten the poor girl with Hugh’s message for her. “As for Miss Whitley Daaé,” Iris began, “no doubt she’ll do her best – her voice is good. She knows, though, should she wish to  _ excel _ , she has much still to learn, if pride will let her return to me, her teacher…”

Iris trailed off and cleared her throat. “Your obedient friend and angel,” she finished.

“I can’t,” Whitley whispered, voice trembling slightly. “I won’t do it.”

Gears were turning in Blake’s head while Mrs. Giry read the note. After a few moments of silence, he said, “We have all been blind – the answer is staring us in the face. This is the perfect opportunity to ensnare our clever friend.”

“What are you talking about?” Pearl asked.

“We will play his game, and perform his work,” he said with a sly smile, “but we know that as long as Miss Daaé sings, he is certain to attend.”

Pearl’s eyes lit up when he realized where Blake was going with this. “We’ll make sure all the doors are locked!”

“And we can call the police!” Shauna chimed in.

“We must make certain they are armed,” Blake continued.

“And when he can’t escape, that’s our chance to catch him!” Pearl finished.

Blake turned eagerly to Whitley. “You wished for another option, and here it is!”

Iris snorted. “Madness, that’s what you have!”

“Not if it works!” Shauna exclaimed.

“Believe me when I say  _ it will not work _ .”

“Then what will?” Blake asked her. “Help us out here!”

Iris shook her head vehemently. “It’s impossible to catch him that easily.”

“Don’t make excuses!” Pearl snapped. “Dia, back us up here!”

“I-I don’t know, Pearl,” Diamond admitted. “I’m not so sure that this is a good idea.”

“Are you not on our side?” Blake mused, narrowing his eyes at Diamond.

“They’re both his accomplices!” Yvonne shouted excitedly.

“Hey, isn’t that jumping to conclusions just a little bit?” Leo asked.

The office exploded into a shouting match. Yvonne was shouting animatedly at Leo. Pearl was still arguing with Iris and Diamond. Blake was muttering to himself – did he say something about an angel? Xavier was trying to leave. Shauna was fighting him every step of the way. Whitley gripped the score of  _ Don George _ tightly, needing something concrete to hold onto. She couldn’t think with everyone shouting. Shouting about her, shouting about him, shouting, shouting, shouting– 

“I think I’m going mad!” Whitley shrieked, throwing the score to the ground. Everyone quieted down as Whitley began to sob, and Blake rushed to her side. “Blake, don’t make me do this. Blake, I’m scared. Don’t put me through this,” she sobbed. Blake held her, gently stroking her hair. “He-he’ll take me. We’ll be parted forever. He won’t let me go…”

Blake and the managers helped Whitley into a chair, and she whispered hoarsely, “If he finds me, it won’t ever end.” She clung to Blake’s arm, whispering, “He’ll always be there, singing songs in my head…”

“She’s crazy,” Yvonne muttered. Shauna nodded her agreement.

“You said yourself that he was nothing but a man,” Blake reminded Whitley. She started to shake her head, but he put a hand under her chin and met her eyes. “Yet while he is here, he will haunt us until we are dead.”

Blake gripped her hands reassuringly, and Whitley took a few uneven breaths to steady herself. Finally, she admitted, “I’m being twisted every way, and I don’t know what answer I can give. Do I have to risk my freedom to win the chance to live my life?”

Whitley pulled her hands into her lap, out of Blake’s grasp. “You’re asking me to betray the man who inspired my voice. When I think of it that way, there’s no way I can agree.” She shook her head with a sigh. “And yet…he tortures and feels no remorse; he’s manipulated everyone I know. I know I shouldn’t refuse, but I still  _ wish _ I could. If…if I agree, what awaits me in this…in  _ his _ musical?”

“Oh, Whitley, please do not mistake this for me being uncaring,” Blake sighed, putting a hand on her shoulder. She looked up into his eyes, which glistened with unexpected sorrow. “But our only hope rests on you now.”

“Yes, the boy’s right! Listen to him!” Pearl said.

Suddenly, like Pearl’s words had broken a dam, everyone began to crowd around Whitley, insisting that she play the part. Blake, Pearl, Leo, Yvonne, Shauna, even Diamond, Mrs. Giry and Xavier were there, trying to convince her to change her mind. It was too much.

“Stop! I can’t!” Whitley shrieked. She jumped to her feet and pushed past everyone and ran out the door. Blake called her name, but she did not stop. She kept running until she ran into Ms. Lefévre in the corridor, and looked up at her, and kept running.

However, White noticed the fear in Whitley’s eyes and knew that something was wrong. She grabbed Whitley’s wrist and pulled her in the opposite direction, and now they were both running, but White was in the lead. 

When the two women emerged into the crowded musical foyer, Whitley finally stopped and asked her companion, “Where are we going?”

“Someplace where we can talk privately,” White replied.

They weaved through the crowd of people coming to see the 10 o’clock musical and made their way to the reception desk. White excused them past the receptionists and took Whitley into the backstage hallway of the auditorium, where there were several small Dress Up rooms partitioned off from the main hallway by light turquoise curtains. At the end of the hall, there was a locked door which White unlocked with a master key and ushered Whitley behind.

The room had been built to be a dressing room, with a long mirror along one wall that met a counter jutting out of the wall. However, it was currently being used as a storage closet, filled with extra Props and Prop Cases in case spares were needed. White gestured for Whitley to have a seat on a stool that wasn’t piled high with Prop Cases and locked the door behind them, then turned on a small electric fan by the door. “There aren’t any AC vents in this room,” White explained. “It gets pretty hot if you don’t turn on the fan.”

Whitley glanced nervously at the mirror. “There’s no secret passageway behind that mirror, is there?”

If White were speaking to anyone else, she would have laughed. But knowing exactly where Whitley’s concern was coming from, White replied reassuringly, “There aren’t any secret passageways anywhere in the musical wing. This is indubitably the largest private room in the whole Musical Theater. We don’t have to worry about anyone eavesdropping on us here.”

White began to take Prop Cases off another stool one-handed. The task would have been much easier with both hands, but her left wrist was still aching and she figured it needed a full day to heal. This didn’t escape Whitley’s notice, however, and she asked curiously, “Ms. Lefévre, is your hand okay?”

“I had a little accident after the masquerade yesterday and sprained my wrist,” White said dismissively. “It’ll heal quickly.” She finished clearing the stool and sat down on it, facing Whitley. “Now, what happened back there? I heard yelling coming from one of those offices and then I ran into you, scared out of your mind.”

Whitley looked down at her own hands, taking a few shaky breaths. When she woke up this morning, she was determined not to let the events of the previous night shake her…how did she lose her head so quickly? She wasn’t normally prone to fits of hysteria.

In hindsight, she felt a little embarrassed by her breakdown. The sentiments she had expressed were still there, but they didn’t seem nearly as pressing as they had been before. Ms. Lefévre’s calm acceptance of the situation helped reassure her – she could be empathetic, but she could be logical, too. 

Finally, Whitley felt calm enough to say, “They all want me to play the lead in  _ his _ musical, but I can’t do it…”

White sighed; naturally, the Phantom was on everyone’s mind this morning. She didn’t have a definite answer to Whitley’s predicament. If she refused to sing, Hugh could easily interfere with performances until the Theater went bankrupt. But if she did…White didn’t know exactly what Hugh was planning, but she knew that he would stop at nothing to accomplish it. She couldn’t even promise that Whitley would escape injury anymore. 

“I know you don’t want to hear this,” White said apologetically, “but I think you should sing the part. It’s the only chance we have of something good coming out of this…”

“Good for whom?” Whitley responded angrily. “It seems to me like a lose-lose situation for everyone involved!”

“Not for Hugh.”

Whitley blinked. “Wh-what did you say?”

“I said, it could be good for Hugh,” White replied.

“H-how do you know that name?” Whitley stammered.

“I know him,” White said quietly. “I even considered him a friend, once. But…I’ve seen who he is now, and I don’t like it.”

“So, you want to be rid of him, just like Blake and Shauna and Firmin,” Whitley said coldly. “I guess that means you want to use me as bait to capture him, too?”

“I never said that!” White gasped, straightening up. “What do you mean, they want to use you as bait to capture him?”

“They know he’ll attend the performance of  _ Don George Triumphant _ if I sing,” Whitley said. “Once he’s there…they intend to make sure he doesn’t leave.”

“That’ll never work,” White scoffed. “No one can trap an architect in his own building.” At Whitley’s puzzled expression, she added, “He was the one who designed the expansion to the Musical Theater, years ago. That’s…that’s how I met him.”

Whitley’s gaze fell to the ground. How could one mind come up with such incredible ideas, and yet still do such terrible things? She could never find it in her heart to hate such a talented man, but did he not still deserve some sort of retribution for his actions? Was Blake’s plan really the answer?

The issue, she realized, lay not in  _ what  _ Blake was trying to do, but rather  _ how  _ he was trying to do it. “They said they would bring in the police to help,” Whitley said rapidly. “With their Pokémon. But Hugh’s not a Pokémon Trainer, right? He couldn’t fight back. And if they try attacking him in a dark theater filled with people…”

“They could kill him,” White said darkly. “Or injure someone else.” Meloetta might fight in his defense, but she could only last so long against a full police force. And if Hugh got truly backed into a corner, White didn’t want to know how far he’d go to retaliate. 

“I’ll forbid them from going through with this plan if we are to produce Hugh’s musical,” she said authoritatively. “We’ll protect you from whatever he may be planning without it.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, "Notes II/Twisted Every Way". One last bit of fun before the musical just gets dark/depressing. Here...yeah, it's pretty much the same thing. ("The Ghost of your Bank Account" is one that I've been saving for a long time. Yes, I did write that entire letter to the tune of the song.) Like the previous "Notes", I used the song as a basis for the dialogue in this one, but I deviate more from the song here because the different characters have different motivations, and there were certain parts that I felt needed more elaboration than the musical gives them.
> 
> Hugh's call-outs to everybody in this chapter were...a little difficult. Y, Pearl, and Whitley have pretty much the same one as their musical counterparts, but Leo's and Diamond's had to be changed. In fact, I'm pretty sure that this callout is the main reason I assigned Leo to the role of Piangi in the first place - in the musical, the Phantom calls out Piangi for being fat, but...almost no one in the Pokemon universe is fat. Leo's legs were the best substitute I could think of. Perhaps not the best way to assign a role, but I made it work. Diamond, on the other hand...well, it's really hard for me to cleverly insult my favorite character. I tried.
> 
> Christine's outburst in the musical always struck me as a little weird, to be honest. She starts the scene pretty strongly, but then by the end she's just an emotional wreck. It's never really explained why she falls apart so quickly, though it can be inferred. But the part that's really puzzling is the fact that the scene ends with Christine shouting "I won't do it" and running offstage, and then it immediately shifts to a rehearsal for Don Juan. Like...did she change her mind? Or does her opinion just not matter? Either way, that's why I decided to extend the scene a little bit beyond where it ends in the musical - to answer those questions about Whitley's behavior, especially when I already established in the last two chapters that she's starting to become more self-confident.
> 
> Plus, I love me a good excuse to throw in a bit more White. 
> 
> **Up next: Rehearsal for Don George, and a visit to a Ferris wheel.**


	13. Troubled by Memories

Rehearsals for _Don George Triumphant_ began as soon as possible after parts had been distributed. Mr. Reyer was known to display an intense focus under pressure, and these rehearsals were no exception – he stretched them as long as possible, and pushed every performer to their extremes. It didn’t help that they had to have two rehearsals every day for the first two weeks following the masquerade because they still had to prepare for the show of the new season, which opened on July 5th.

The reason for the urgency was because the Phantom had already selected the date for the performance of _Don George_. He had scheduled a special gala “to celebrate the art of music” on August 8th, at which his musical would debut. “Forty-eight days!” Cheren had exclaimed. “We have to put together a new Musical Show in just forty-eight days!” If it were a simpler musical, this would easily be doable. But, this was not just any musical; this was a musical of the Phantom’s composition. Naturally, the music itself was impossibly difficult to play or sing.

The only consolation for all of this was that the Phantom seemed to have been placated by the preparations for his musical: he rarely caused accidents, though he made sure that everyone knew he was still around by leaving notes with criticisms or, on occasion, compliments almost every day. Even Whitley’s move to the Girys’ apartment, as Blake had requested, didn’t trigger any noticeable reaction. However, he still wasn’t leaving Whitley alone yet, as she learned on a strange night in Nimbasa City’s amusement park.

It all started, as most conflicts at the Musical Theater seemed to begin, with a rehearsal. It was the Sunday following the masquerade, and Mr. Reyer had decided that they would rehearse until sunset – and, since it was less than a week after the longest day of the year, sunset happened late. The extended rehearsal time was wearing down everyone’s patience, chorus members and lead vocalists alike. So, towards the end of rehearsal, Cheren stopped the piano accompaniment again to correct one of Leo’s lines, but Leo was rather uncooperative.

“Mr. Piangi, _this_ is the phrase: ‘those who _tang_ -le with Don _George_ ' - if you please."

“Those who _tan_ -gle with Don George–”

“Nearly, but no. ‘Those who _tang_ -le’. Tang, tang, tang.”

“Tan, tan, tan.”

Cheren let out an exasperated sigh, and Yvonne commented snidely, “His way is better. At least he makes it _sound_ like music.”

This was followed by a round of chuckling from almost everyone. Cheren, of course, was not amused, and neither was Iris. “Lady Gābena,” she interrupted, “would you speak that way in the presence of the composer?”

“The composer isn’t here,” Yvonne replied with a contemptuous snort.

“Can you be certain of that, Lady Gābena?” Iris asked.

Yvonne’s expression quickly fell from contempt into apprehension, and she did not respond.

“Now then, Mr. Piangi,” Cheren said, throwing a grateful glance in Iris’s direction, “Let’s try this again.”

However, Yvonne’s anxiety had rubbed off on Leo as well, and this time he sang the wrong words entirely. This was followed by a chorus of groans and mumbling, and Yvonne finally stood up and complained, “Why does it _matter_ what notes he sings? No one will know if it’s right or wrong! No one will _care_!”

As Yvonne proceeded to sing the line to Cheren in an exaggeratedly incorrect manner, they gradually became aware of the accompaniment part being played on a piano. Not just any piano – the piano behind Cheren… _was playing the music by itself_.

Rehearsal ended almost immediately afterwards, since everyone was still on edge. Whitley was perhaps unnerved most of all, even though she suspected the “self-playing piano” was only Meloetta’s doing. She was unnerved by the fact that even Lady Gābena and Mr. Piangi were afraid of Hugh now, and that she couldn’t tell if Mrs. Giry was colluding with him or not. She was also unnerved by the fact that she didn’t know with whom she could discuss these issues: Blake would just tell her to forget them, Yuki wouldn’t appreciate knowing that Whitley didn’t trust her mother, and no one else knew Whitley well enough to give her reliable advice. The only thing Whitley could think of was to get away from everything for a couple of hours. So, once she had fetched Foongy from her dressing room, instead of going to the Girys’ apartment, Whitley went to Nimbasa City’s most famous attraction – the amusement park.

The amusement park wasn’t very crowded because of the time, so Whitley had free reign to do basically whatever she pleased. However, she was mostly here for one specific ride, located near the edge of the park: the Rondez-View Ferris Wheel. She wouldn’t be able to ride it that night because the ride required at least two people per car, but just seeing the illuminated Ferris wheel brought back a wave of nostalgia to her childhood in Unova.

After they moved to Unova, Whitley and her mother needed a way to support themselves – and given their particular talents, performance seemed to be the best option. However, street performances in the only city they could afford to live in were unprofitable if not dangerous; Nimbasa City was the only place they knew of where music was appreciated. So, Whitley and her mother would come to Nimbasa City on weekends and perform at the amusement park until dark, at which point they would take a ride on the Ferris wheel before falling asleep underneath a tree where no one would bother them. They were usually too tired by the time they rode the Ferris wheel to speak, but the chance to look out on the shining lights of Nimbasa City in her mother’s companionship was more than enough to satisfy Whitley.

As a child, Whitley was always more comfortable in the company of her family – her parents and uncles – than of her few friends. So, after Whitley and her mother moved to Unova, she became her only companion – more than just a mother, she was Whitley’s best friend. She remained a close friend to Whitley even after Blake came to the Trainer’s School and Whitley started to feel less like a stranger among her classmates. After Blake returned to Kalos, Whitley turned to her mother for support. However, less than a year later, Whitley’s world was shattered when her mother suddenly fell ill while recovering from surgery and died.

Enveloped in nostalgia, Whitley found herself wishing her mother was somehow here again, wishing she was somehow near. Sometimes it seemed if she just dreamed, somehow her mother would appear. She wished she could hear her mother’s voice again, though she knew she never would. She wanted to hear her mother tell her to do all that she dreamed she could.

Whitley longed, in that moment, to feel her mother’s warm and gentle embrace once more. It was a feeling she had experienced many times since that last day, and each time she felt more frustrated with herself for feeling it. She had spent too many years fighting back tears; why couldn’t the past just die?

It was hard, she knew, because everything Hugh did seemed inexplicably linked to her childhood, to her mother. He had come to her in the guise of the Angel of Music, one of her favorite stories from childhood and her mother’s last promise to her. He had helped her to sing again, like she had done so many times with her mother, and even more beautifully than she had before her mother’s passing. And now, with _Don George_ …she didn’t know how he knew, but he must have picked the date of the performance deliberately. It was her mother’s death day.

Foongy could sense Whitley’s distress and gently nudged her head, pulling her out of her thoughts. “Oh, Foongy,” she murmured. “Give me strength now.” She had to try – no more memories, no more silent tears, no more gazing across the wasted years. She turned back and looked wistfully at the Ferris wheel one last time. She needed to let go; she had to say goodbye.

“It’s getting late,” Whitley sighed. “Mrs. Giry will be worried. Let’s go, Foongy.”

But as Foongy jumped from Whitley’s shoulder and into her arms, she suddenly felt a hand on her other shoulder and heard an all-too-familiar voice purr, “Why are you wandering alone here, angel?”

Whitley whirled around and found herself staring into the eyes of her Angel of Music. Her throat went dry. She didn’t know what to say. He was wearing a black hat with a feather on it. It was fluffy and cute. Maybe she should be screaming. Her vocal chords didn’t want to cooperate. His cape was garnished with sequins on the shoulders. How pretty. She had to find her voice. She had to say something.

“You look nice tonight…”

_Idiot! Why the hell did you say that!?_

His lip curled up into a smile – one of those genuine smiles that she had grown to love so much. “Come with me.”

He offered a hand to Whitley and she took it, despite her brain screaming at her that it was a terrible idea. Foongy’s body seemed to have more success in cooperating with his brain than Whitley’s did; with a war cry, he scattered a cloud of spores to put the Phantom to sleep. However, he overshot a bit and some of the spores landed on Whitley as well. Their eyelids started drooping almost immediately.

Though half-asleep – or perhaps _because_ he was half-asleep – Hugh reached out to catch Whitley, some protective urge commanding him to keep her from hitting the rough ground. They fell together, singer and composer, beauty and phantom, redeemer and angel, under the influence of the same spell. It left them collapsed together in the grass, fast asleep.

The mushroom who put them to sleep encountered considerable difficulty in squirming out from between the two. This was certainly not how he intended to protect his Trainer, though he supposed she was safe enough if they remained asleep. However, Foongy still wanted to get her away from the Phantom, so he did the only thing he could think of to help her: he ran away.

* * *

Hugh received a rather rude awakening in the form of one of Meloetta’s Wake-Up Slaps. It certainly woke him up, but it left a painful throbbing in his right cheek reminiscent of the slaps that his mother would administer to him whenever she felt it was necessary. Meloetta’s slap was gentler than what he remembered from his mother, but the thought still crossed his mind to check a mirror to make sure the mark wouldn’t show. He used far too much makeup already.

There was something heavy weighing on his chest, quite literally. Meloetta unceremoniously pushed the object off Hugh and started tugging at his arm, urgently crying out something that he assumed translated to “get up.” This behavior was unusual for her, which almost made him inclined to listen to her. But just as he was opening his eyes, Meloetta let out a cry of frustration and flew away somewhere. Hugh decided to take his time in getting up just to spite her.

He rolled over onto his side and realized that what Meloetta had pushed off him was actually his sweet Whitley. There was grass in her hair, but that didn’t bother him; her face was so beautifully serene in sleep, and it captured all his attention. She looked just like an angel.

And yet, she still didn’t seem as angelic as she had when she was awake and said those four sweet words: _you look nice tonight_. He had never received such a compliment before. On the rare occasions that anyone did compliment him, it was always because of something he had done – working efficiently, learning quickly, staying out of Mother’s way. No one had ever complimented him on simply how he _was_. Oh, how those four simple words made his poor heart flutter with hope. They were such beautiful, wonderful, splendid words.

Hugh gently picked the angel up off the cool grass and soothingly rubbed one of her hands. He could have sworn that the smile on her sleeping face grew a little more content as he did. Whitley was there with him, and she was happy. That was all he needed.

But his little moment of happiness was fleeting. For in the same moment that he took a step forward, he heard a cry from behind: “Whitley!”

Hugh whirled around and took a step back, muttering a curse under his breath. That damned viscount was approaching him, with that accursed Foongus on his shoulder, no less. He could escape easily if it was just him, but now he had to carry Whitley, too. Where was Meloetta when he needed her?

“Let go of her! She does not belong with you!” Blake shouted. He shifted his gaze to the sleeping girl in the Phantom’s arms. “Whitley! Wake up!”

Even in his anger, Hugh couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, bra- _vo_ , sir! Such spirited words! But I can assure you, they will have no effect!”

“More tricks, you fiend?” Blake responded angrily, though a worried look briefly crossed his face. “What have you done to her?”

“I have done nothing to her, Viscount.” Hugh smirked. “That’s less than can be said for your minute companion!”

Blake glanced, puzzled, at Foongy for a moment, which gave his rival the opportunity to take a few steps back. Realization dawned on Blake as he figured out what must have happened – Foongy had tried to put the Phantom to sleep and accidentally put Whitley to sleep instead. Then, an idea sparked in his mind; in his concern for Whitley’s safety, he had forgotten that he could take advantage of Foongy’s Spore attack himself.

“I see,” Blake murmured, subtly edging closer to the Phantom. He just had to get close enough that his opponent would be in range of the attack, but without alerting him to what he was trying to do.

However, Hugh had figured out exactly what Blake was trying to do, and he couldn’t let it happen. Subtly edging backwards himself, he taunted, “That’s right, that’s right, keep walking this way!”

“You can’t win her love by making her your prisoner,” Blake retorted. He noted with satisfaction that the Phantom tensed up ever so slightly.

“Come on, then,” Hugh jeered. “I’m right here, _child_!”

Blake snarled and broke into a sprint, nodding at Foongy as he did so. “Spore!” he commanded, and Foongy jumped off Blake’s shoulder, preparing to launch spores at the Phantom again.

But Hugh could see what Blake and Foongy could not, which was that his stalling had paid off. He laughed triumphantly as Meloetta shot towards them, fist flaming, and knocked Whitley’s Foongus out with one expertly placed Fire Punch. Then, she landed on the ground at Hugh’s side and threw a smug smile at Blake, who glared back at her.

When Yuki Giry had found Blake and told him that Whitley had left the Musical Theater almost three hours prior and had never arrived at their apartment, he immediately suspected the Phantom and began looking for her. He eventually ran into Foongy and Foongy led him over to the amusement park, where they had been challenged by the Phantom’s Pokémon, Meloetta. He had ordered Dewott to keep Meloetta occupied while he and Foongy continued onwards.

So, if Meloetta was here now, then Dewott must have been defeated again. Blake clenched his fists tightly. He had been so close to not just rescuing Whitley, but capturing the Phantom as well; now, he could do nothing but watch helplessly as they both vanished before his eyes.

* * *

Meloetta, for some reason, decided to teleport the three of them in front of the steps leading up to Gear Station. A man wearing all black except for a white mask did not exactly blend in with a relatively small crowd, especially when said man was carrying a sleeping woman and accompanied by a Mythical Pokémon. Hugh quickly slid into the nearest alleyway before he could attract too many stares, and once he was a relatively safe distance from the end, he turned to Meloetta expectantly.

When she only returned his stare blankly, he sighed and said, “Meloetta. Take us back to the Theater.” Meloetta shook her head, and Hugh raised an eyebrow at her. “Excuse me?”

Hugh didn’t make a habit of carrying writing instruments and paper around with him, but he suspected Whitley might have something in that giant pink-and-white bag of hers. He laid her gently on the ground and quickly rifled through the bag. Eventually, he found a small blue notebook and a black pen, which Meloetta took from him telekinetically. She wrote a brief note in it and handed the notebook to Hugh.

Hugh’s expression gradually grew angrier as he read the note. As soon as he had reached the end of it, he slammed the notebook shut and glared at Meloetta, fury burning in his eyes. Finally, in the calmest voice he could muster, he growled, “You. Do not. Control. Me.”

But even as he said it, he knew that the truth was quite the opposite. He had let Meloetta have far too much influence on his work in the Theater in the past, so now she expected to always have control over his actions. The worst part was how close to reality her expectation was. Hugh had come to subconsciously rely on Meloetta so much that he could not afford to antagonize her now. He hated to admit that he had backed himself into a corner, but he couldn’t deny that Meloetta had him trapped and all his options were painful or dangerous. He had to choose the one that would hurt the least.

“I am _not_ afraid,” he finally said. He picked up Whitley and added bitterly, “You should have stopped me from following her in the first place.” And with that, the Opera Ghost strode down the alleyway, melting with Whitley into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy, this chapter...this chapter encompasses the Don Juan rehearsal and the graveyard scene from the musical, and a lot of the dialogue is taken from those scenes. But as you've obviously figured out from reading the chapter, there is no graveyard here at all. The thing is, the only known graveyards in the Pokemon world are graveyards for Pokemon themselves, not for people - Whitley's mother wouldn't be buried there. So, I decided to write the scene in a location that would remind Whitley of her mom without being a graveyard.
> 
> So, just so we're clear on the timeline at this point: the masquerade is on June 21st, the fiasco in the managers' office is on June 22nd, the amusement park visit happens on June 29th, the new season starts on July 5th, and the date Hugh set for Don George's debut is August 8th, which is also Mama Daaé's death day. (Yes, I did pick that date because it's Red's birthday, thanks for noticing ^.^)
> 
> Meloetta knowing Fire Punch isn't anything new - it's how she lit the candles in the basement in chapter 5, if you had forgotten - but it takes on a little bit of additional meaning here, where it's sort of a reference to the staff that the Phantom uses in the musical that shoots fireballs at Raoul and Christine (they're just special effects that don't do any damage, but they look REALLY cool). 
> 
> Confession time: when I got to this chapter, I was intending it to be the third to last one. That, uh, started derailing around the end here. I didn't have a very clear idea of how I wanted Hugh and Whitley's interaction to go - I think one idea I had involved Hugh pinning Whitley to the wall of the Ferris wheel booth, and another had Foongy's Spore only affect Whitley so that Hugh could bring her onto the Ferris wheel and chat with her like what N did with White. Then I wrote the chapter and...it just kinda happened like this. I liked it because it allowed me to incorporate some of "Bravo, Monsieur". but then I was like "oh shit wait he wasn't supposed to get Whitley yet" and so I had to resolve that conflict, but then that brought in a new conflict, which in turn tied in with some plot points later, and...well, I integrated it into the plot too well to try revising it.
> 
> **Up next: Whitley's safe, but someone else may not be...**


	14. Performance Preparations

The next morning, Whitley awoke to the familiar lavender walls of the Girys’ guest room feeling refreshed and relaxed. She had slept longer and more soundly that night than she had in a long time, especially with Cheren’s lengthy and strenuous rehearsals for _Don George Triumphant_ and  _The Floette of Lumiose_ to get through…

Rehearsal! Whitley sat up with a jolt. She reached out for the Xtransceiver on her nightstand, disturbing Foongy in the process. She checked the time on it and groaned. She had overslept, and was now an hour late for rehearsal. _Why didn’t Yuki or Mrs. Giry wake me?_ she wondered angrily as she slipped out of bed. _We’re all going to the same place._

There were two things that made it obvious that Whitley had been utterly exhausted the previous night: she had fallen asleep in her rehearsal outfit and she had overslept her alarm. As she changed into a fresh set of clothes, she allowed herself to think back on the previous day’s events and realized why she had slept so soundly. She’d utilize Foongy’s Spore more often if it didn’t make her sleep for fifteen hours.

Foongy had slipped out of the room after he realized Whitley was awake and he returned as Whitley was slipping on a clean shirt, but he was not alone. “Good morning,” a soft-spoken doctor greeted her. “It’s been a while, Miss Daaé.”

“Doctor Logan!” Whitley exclaimed. She hadn’t seen Yuki’s stepfather since he took a night off from the hospital to attend one of their performances last August. He hardly looked a day older, though – his blue-black hair was just as short as she remembered it, and he still wore his turquoise scrubs that hung a little loose on him. He wore a surgical mask over the bottom half of his face that made his expression mostly unreadable, but the warmth in his eyes betrayed the smile hidden underneath.

Whitley had first met Doctor Logan when he was assigned to be her mother’s physical therapist at the hospital after her initial surgery, but before her illness worsened. He had been sympathetic for the girl since she was the same age as his stepdaughter, and even more so when he discovered the two girls were already friends. When Whitley’s mother finally died, Logan and Yuki wanted to help the orphaned girl out, so they convinced Mrs. Giry to accept Whitley into the Musical Theater’s new ballet chorus.

“Iris told me you had a rough night last night,” Logan said. “She asked me to keep an eye on you today, and make sure you don’t overexert yourself. So, you don’t need to worry about rehearsing or performing today.”

“Thank you,” Whitley said, grateful for the doctor’s presence. She felt more comfortable knowing that she had another person on her side. “Was it Mrs. Giry who brought me here from the amusement park?”

The doctor shook his head. “No, she and Yuki were looking for you on their own when the viscount told them what he witnessed there. It seems that after accidentally putting you to sleep, your Foongus went to fetch the viscount to help you.”

“B-Blake found us?” Whitley asked, flushing. Her memories of the aftermath of Foongy’s Spore attack were a little hazy, but she remembered feeling Hugh’s arms wrapping around her to catch her as they fell. She was thoroughly embarrassed by the notion that Blake had found them sleeping together so intimately.

“Us?”

“Me and…” She wasn’t quite sure what to call him. “Phantom” and “Ghost” seemed too impersonal or inhuman, which was why she hated to refer to him that way, but no one that she knew of knew him as Hugh except Ms. Lefévre and she didn’t know if “Angel” would have any meaning to Doctor Logan. Finally, she settled on, “Me and… _him_.”

“The man they call the Phantom, you mean?” Logan guessed. Whitley nodded meekly. “Yes, the viscount found him carrying you. However, his Pokémon arrived and teleported the two of you…elsewhere.”

Whitley was both relieved and confused by this explanation. “He was _awake_?”

“Yes,” Logan replied, a hint of puzzlement in his voice.

“But…Foongy put us both to sleep.”

The doctor pondered this for a moment. “Perhaps he was woken up by something else, then,” he finally suggested. “He was certainly awake by the time the Viscount of Chenonceau found you.”

Whitley shook her head. “I don’t understand…how did I end up here, then?”

“That is as much of a mystery to us as it is to you,” Logan responded with a sigh. “We know that he left the amusement park with you. We also know that Iris sent Yuki back home while she and the viscount went to talk to Ms. Lefévre, and by the time Yuki arrived here you were lying fast asleep in this bed. So, the most reasonable conclusion that can be drawn is that _he_ brought you back here. Why he would do that, we cannot say.”

Whitley understood his unspoken question, but the truth was that she could hardly fathom why Hugh would bring her to the Girys’ apartment any more than anyone else could. She began twisting the plain gold band on her finger subconsciously while her conscious was mulling over the doctor’s question. There were two possibilities that seemed even remotely plausible: either he didn’t want to spirit her away again like she had assumed, or he was planning to do something at the premiere of _Don George Triumphant_ that he couldn’t – or wouldn’t – do if he already had her with him. While the former seemed much less dreadful of a possibility than the latter, it seemed more illogical in the grand scheme of things.

“I don’t know, either,” Whitley admitted, “but I can’t imagine it means anything good. I don’t think we’ll know anything for sure until the premiere of _Don George_. All I know right now is that I can’t let it shake me.” Because if even the smallest favor from him terrified her, how could she hope to even make it to performance day?

* * *

 The next month and a half seemed to fly by, with rehearsals and performances taking up almost all of Whitley’s free time. On the rare occasions that she did get a moment to herself, that was how she wanted to spend it – by herself. As a result, she distanced herself even from the people who knew her best – especially Blake. While they would occasionally pass by each other in the theater, the nature of these coincidental meetings forced their interactions to remain short and cordial.

Of course, Blake was busy preparing for the performance day as well. Yuki, who had a considerably less important role in _Don George_ than Whitley, had enough free time to notice that Blake never seemed to be around unless Whitley was on break or otherwise unoccupied with her work. When she mentioned this to Whitley, Whitley surmised that he was occupied with some noble business.

After their talk on the roof of the Musical Theater, their Saturday outings occasionally had them spend time at Blake’s home – a little villa in the suburbs of Nimbasa. During some of those visits, Looker had interrupted them to inform Blake that he was receiving a call from a “Lady Anabel”. After considerable persistence on Whitley’s part, he told her reluctantly that the woman was his mother, the Countess of Chenonceau, and she had to talk to him about some “noble business” that he was supposed to attend to in Unova. He had been so hesitant to talk about it when he finally told her about it that Whitley hadn’t pressured him for anything more.

Whitley had wondered since if he would be willing to surrender more information on the subject if she brought it up again. However, she knew it would have to wait until the hell that was preparing for _Don George Triumphant_ was over. She simply didn’t have time to talk to him before then.

When the day of the performance finally arrived, Whitley was surprised to realize that she didn’t feel any more nervous about the performance than she usually did the first time she played a role. She enjoyed playing the character of Joy, and the overall plot of the musical was entertaining albeit simple. Even the singing was less challenging than it had seemed at the beginning, though of course she still feared making some terrible mistake during the actual performance.

Whitley’s tradition on the opening night of a Musical Show was to write down how she felt about her performance in her journal before and after she performed. Comparing these entries usually revealed that the performance didn’t go as poorly as she was afraid it would. She reread the entries for some of her favorite shows when she was feeling especially nervous about a production. Contrary to her expectations early on, she didn’t feel the need to reread any entries before performing _Don George Triumphant_.

Of course, she still wanted to write a new one. She had twenty minutes before she needed to meet Blue, her hairdresser, in her dressing room. That gave her plenty of time to write down her thoughts about the show. Blake and Mrs. Giry didn’t want her to be in her old bedroom, but she didn’t think spending less than half an hour there would have any horrible repercussions. She wasn’t sure how Hugh would react if he saw her there, but she wanted to show him that she wasn’t afraid of what he might do. Plus, she figured he would be deterred from doing anything too drastic by Foongy’s presence on her shoulder.

She pulled her journal and a pen out of her bag and sat down on her old bed to write. Starting from the back, she flicked through its pages quickly with a thumb, looking for the last page she had used. However, she paused when she noticed – for a split second – a page in the middle of a sea of unused pages that had writing on it. She didn’t remember writing anything on a random page in her journal. When she finally located the page again, she realized with a growing sense of horror that the handwriting on the page wasn’t hers.

_If you already have the girl, you will have no reason to take Piangi’s role in your musical’s debut. Therefore, she must remain free until that day comes. I know you are afraid of performing, but I can assure you that you have much worse things to fear if you do not – after all I have done for you, you do not want to have me as your enemy. You will bring her to Mrs. Giry’s apartment – it is easily accessible via this alley._

There was no doubt in Whitley’s mind that the note was addressed to Hugh, and that “the girl” was referring to her. It must have been written on that night, after they had left the amusement park. That would explain why he had brought her to the Girys’ apartment. But who had written it? Meloetta, maybe? She was the only person or Pokémon Whitley knew of who had actually helped Hugh, and as she couldn't speak, it would make sense that she would have had to write her message down.

However, as she reread the note, several things served to give her a hollow feeling in her stomach: the fact that Hugh planned to perform in Leo’s place, the implication that she would lose her freedom after the performance, the knowledge that Hugh was afraid of performing his own musical, the suggestion that he should be afraid of Meloetta. She didn’t like any of it, and she felt the dread that had been weighing on her when she first received her part come crashing back down onto her shoulders like the journal that had just fallen down into her lap.

She couldn’t help feeling like it was her own fault that the whole company was being threatened by this man. After all, this whole fiasco only started because she allowed him to teach her, and he made it his goal to help her start a singing career. Perhaps if she gave herself up and let him do with her what he wished, she could convince him to leave everyone else alone…

Foongy squealed angrily, having finished reading the note himself. He jumped down onto the open journal and looked up into Whitley’s eyes, thumping his chest determinedly.

Whitley gave him a sad smile. “Sorry, Foongy. I can’t bring you backstage; it’s not allowed. But don’t worry, the others will protect me.” Foongy’s wordless vow was enough to snap her out of her little funk, though. She couldn’t keep thinking like that; Blake and Ms. Lefévre had promised that they wouldn’t let Hugh have his way. She had to trust them to protect the Theater and its performers, while she focused on giving the audience a good show.

However, assuming what the note suggested about Hugh’s plans for that night still held true, Leo would be in danger. She had to warn him…if she wasn’t already too late. “Foongy, come on. We’re going to give my costar a pre-show pep talk.”

* * *

To her relief, she found Leo safe and uninjured in his dressing room. He was gelling his hair back in preparation for a visit from his own prep team, but he stopped to greet Whitley and Foongy as they entered.

“How are you feeling?” she asked, holding her journal to her chest.

He looked thoughtful for a few moments, pondering her question. “Actually, I’m really excited,” he finally said, grinning. “Getting to play someone suave and successful like Don George feels like fulfilling my old childhood dreams…I was a super shy and awkward kid; did you know that?”

Whitley shook her head while Foongy jumped from her shoulder onto the counter of Leo’s dresser. In truth, she didn’t know much about Leo Piangi.

“It’s true, believe it or not,” he chuckled, leaning back against the dresser. “I couldn’t even talk to a girl without getting all clammy and nervous, especially if she was cute.” He suddenly sat back upright and continued somberly, “I knew I had to get over it after I lost my first crush, but it still ended up taking years.”

“What do you mean that you ‘lost’ your first crush?” Whitley asked quietly. His tone led her to believe that this wasn’t a simple dwindling of affections.

Leo sighed and rested his chin on a hand. “I mean that she died. And I’m sure she didn’t take any fond memories of me with her to the grave.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered sympathetically, her sentiments echoed by Foongy.

“Her name was Mackenzie,” Leo said pensively. “I don’t really recall what all I liked about her…it was really just a stupid childhood crush, you know…but I remember she was kind and cute, and any time I saw her it made my heart flutter. She was a year behind me in school, though she had a brother in my class.” His tone grew bitter at the mention of her brother. His next words told Whitley exactly why. “But he killed her.”

“What!?” Whitley gasped. Foongy squeaked in surprise.

“She was only seven years old,” Leo continued. “The two of them simply disappeared one night, and _he_ was never seen again. _She_ was found a few months later, in another city, beaten and dying. She was taken to the hospital, but it was too late.”

Whitley felt a surge of pity for the girl, but it was mixed with confusion. “How do you know that it was the brother’s doing, though?”

“They had to have left together,” Leo explained, “but there’s no way she would have willingly gone with someone like him. He was deformed, and he had a horrible temper–”

“Deformed?” Whitley interrupted. “In what way?”

“There was something wrong with his head, I don’t know exactly what,” Leo said. “He always had to keep it wrapped in bandages. Rumor was he looked like a monster under there. I heard it affected his brain, too, so his mother had to keep him locked in the attic to keep him from hurting her or Mackenzie when he had a violent spell.” He shuddered. “It’s lucky she survived so long with him at all.”

Foongy’s eyes narrowed, and Whitley gulped. “What…was his name?”

“Erik.”

She let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. This child who had killed his sister when he was only eight years old wasn’t Hugh after all. She didn’t care to entertain the idea of what she would have had to do if they were one and the same. Belatedly, she realized she should’ve known from the beginning that they were two different people – there was no way that Hugh and Leo could have been in the same class at school. Hugh was much older than him.

A knock on the door drew their attention. Foongy stiffened up, but Leo simply called, “Come in.”

To Foongy’s relief, the visitor at the door was only Ruby. He entered the room with his arms full of makeup supplies. “Ready to get pretty?” he asked jovially. Upon noticing Whitley, he added, “You ought to get back to your room – Blue was looking for you.”

Whitley nodded, picked up Foongy, and slipped out into the hall. It wasn’t until she was halfway back to her dressing room that she realized she had completely forgotten about the whole reason she went to talk to Leo in the first place. She thought about turning around, but she was already running late and the last thing they needed was to delay the performance because Whitley wasn’t finished getting ready. She didn’t have time to go back to Leo’s room now.

Fortunately, she ran into Blake before she reached her dressing room. He was talking to someone on what Whitley thought was a cell phone – she wasn’t very familiar with such devices – but when she put a hand on his arm to draw his attention, he quickly put the conversation on hold so he could talk with Whitley. “What do you need?” he asked, lightening his tone.

“Keep an eye on Leo during the performance for me,” Whitley said. “Please?”

Her request puzzled him, but Blake could tell from her tone that she was utterly serious. “Of course,” he promised. “And good luck out there.” Whitley nodded as he continued down the hall.

There was nothing she could do now but trust in her friends and hope for the best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...man, I forgot how much this chapter makes me want to give Leo a hug. I'm sorry, buddy. You don't deserve all the shit I'm throwing at you.
> 
> Anyways, as I alluded to last chapter, this chapter was created solely because I needed to resolve the cliffhanger that I accidentally ended up on in the last chapter. It's a little anticlimatic, I know, but by the time I considered that I'd already integrated Meloetta's note into the plot too well for me to take it out. I hope the note is a satisfying explanation for it.
> 
> A couple little details that I wanted to talk about - the Girys' guest room has lavender-colored walls because that's the color of the walls in my room. I'm so creative. _The Floette of Lumiose_ is a completely made-up musical with absolutely no significance to the story whatsoever. The only connection is that that the original story takes place in a Paris opera house and Lumiose City is the Pokémon equivalent of Paris. Make of that what you will.
> 
> We get a little more insight into Iris, Yuki, and Whitley's history here thanks to Logan, my favorite one-off character in this story. I talked about him a little in the notes for chapter 10, if you wanted to go back and refresh your memory on who he is. I added the little tidbit about him being Mama Daaé's PT because I needed a reason for Whitley to get unofficially adopted by the Girys, since at the time Whitley and Yuki were never best friends at school. I decided to change the latter part later, but I kept Logan's relation the same because I think it's nicer this way.
> 
> So, Looker is Blake's butler, and now Anabel is his mom...hey, it's not like he has any canon family members, and Interpol officers seem noble enough. While I only say here that Blue is a hairdresser, she does makeup as well - really, her job is the same as Ruby's, except she works specifically with the female cast members while Ruby works exclusively with the male cast members. Plus, Ruby helps out with the costume designing, too.
> 
> **Up next: Blake and White have a chat before the musical begins...**


	15. Bad Omens

“Line up!” Blake barked, striding onto center stage. He was followed by several people, some male and some female, who were wearing a variety of light-colored suits. Some of them were wearing long overcoats on top of their suits. Blake stopped in the middle of the line, turning to face them. “On my signal, take up your positions. I shall then instruct you to secure the doors. It is essential that _all doors_ are properly secured! Is that understood, officers?”

“Yes, sir!” they responded swiftly, automatically. Then one, a short blond-haired young man, asked, “If I may, sir…what _is_ the signal?”

“A very good question, officer,” Blake replied, nonplussed. “The signal is… _take up your positions_!”

Blake chuckled to himself a little as each officer hastily scrambled towards a door. There were four exits at the back of the theater, and one on each side of the stage. He himself would be positioned in the corner of the orchestra pit, where he had a clear view of Box Five. He did not have enough officers to guard every door backstage; however, he had a sneaking suspicion that there were more doors backstage than he knew about, so he settled for planting one officer in each wing and trusting the cast and crew to serve as emergency backup in a pinch.

While he expected his mission would not be easy, he did not expect resistance _before_ the show began. That, he realized, was exactly what he was getting when he caught sight of Ms. Lefévre walking towards him with a cold stare on her face.

“Viscount,” she said coolly, and Blake flinched. “Please explain to me why I just saw several International Police officers on this stage?”

Blake resumed his poise and narrowed his eyes at her. She was transparent to a fault, and he could tell by her tense posture and narrowed eyes that she was far from dispassionate about what she had seen. “They are here to detain, not to kill. Their Pokémon are trained to act accordingly.”

“That’s not the point,” White replied, anger beginning to seep through into her voice. “You promised me that you would not go through with this ridiculous plan to capture Hugh. We agreed to protect Whitley from his schemes and leave him alone, did we not?”

“We did,” Blake responded with a sigh. “But, Ms. Lefévre, I am afraid I have little choice now. I have significantly altered the plan from what I originally envisioned to appease you, and Whitley’s safety is still paramount, naturally. However, I cannot afford to put this off any longer.” He sighed again, keeping his lips in a firm line. “You know I have been bending the rules just by being here. And now I believe my boss is starting to suspect why. She has given me an ultimatum, so I know that no outcome of this night will be good for me.”

White puzzled over this for a minute before admitting, “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“I have run out of second chances to succeed,” Blake explained. “If I fail this time, she will not allow me to try again.”

Understanding finally dawned in White’s eyes. “This will be the last night you get to see Whitley,” she murmured sympathetically. Then her expression sobered. “So don’t you want to leave her with a good impression of you? If this is the last time you’ll ever see her?”

Blake shook his head. “I have to do my job, Ms. Lefévre.”

“Forget about your stupid job for a second,” White snapped. “What do _you_ want to do?”

Blake hesitated, knitting his brow. “I…I want…” He closed his eyes and shook his head, sighing. “What I want is just an impossible, childish fantasy. The best I can do is slip out of her life as painlessly as possible. I will do my job, leave, and she will never know anything of it.”

“You can’t be serious,” White said, shaking her head. He gave her a curt nod, and she let out a small gasp. “No, Blake…you can’t do it like this. You love her, don’t you? Do you want her to spend the rest of her life thinking that was a lie?”

Blake frowned, and White could tell she was making more cracks in his professional façade of indifference. “She would not do that. She knows I would never lie to her about how I feel about her,” he said uncertainly.

“She thinks you’d never lie to her about who you are, too,” White shot back. “If you break her heart so harshly, you might break her voice again. And who will fix it then? Who will be _capable_ of fixing it then?”

The wild look in Blake’s eyes told White that he had not considered the possibility – or perhaps he had never _known_ about it. “A-again?” he stammered, his voice barely more than a whisper.

“Again,” White repeated, softer this time. She had not considered the possibility herself before she said it, but she did not doubt it was a real danger. “Blake, please. For all our sakes…just abandon this plan. You cannot betray Whitley like this.”

Blake said nothing for a few moments, looking utterly bewildered and torn. White wondered if this was what Whitley looked like when Blake first told her of his plan to capture Hugh. “It is not that simple,” he finally admitted, looking at the ground. “If I call off the whole thing, my boss will no doubt require me to explain myself. I cannot expect to explain my actions away with lies and half-truths when she already suspects the real reason for them. And if she gets me to admit to allowing my personal attachments to interfere with my work, combined with some… _problematic_ behavior that I exhibited in the past…she will have adequate grounds for my termination.”

“She wouldn’t…!”

“She would.”

White could do nothing but gape at him. He had told her before that his coworkers were like his family, because he had no other family to speak of – the last of his blood relatives had died years ago. She knew what it was like to lose one’s family, but to be _disowned_ by them? No wonder he had thought he had no choice but to betray Whitley – the alternative was to pray that she wouldn’t hate him when she learned exactly why he was now completely dependent on her compassion.

But was that the only alternative?

“What if you purposely fail?” White asked.

Blake grimaced and looked away. “I…do not have much experience handling failure,” he admitted. “In addition, with all the officers here, it will be hard for me to fail without directly interfering with them. In fact, I should think it will be hard to for me fail at all.”

“Then you’re completely underestimating who you’re up against,” White said solemnly.

“I am quite aware that he is intelligent, Ms. Lefévre,” Blake responded. “Fortunately, the International Police are not trained to capture _dumb_ criminals.”

“Yes, I suppose it’s too late to do anything about them now," White sighed. "I’m just going to focus on keeping everyone safe, and I advise you to do the same. I can’t force you to do anything, but…please take everything into consideration before you act.”

Blake gave her a courteous nod, expecting her to leave the stage. But she lingered for a few moments, deliberating something in her head. Just when Blake was about to ask her what she was debating, she blurted out, “Do you know why we call him the Opera Ghost?”

Blake shook his head.

“It’s the costume he wears,” she explained quickly. “It was worn by the male lead in a Musical Show from a few seasons ago, in which two opera singers fall in love while co-starring in an opera. It ends with them changing the tragic ending of the opera to a happier ending, where the characters can live out their lives together – and in the end, the singers get married.”

“Why do you bring this up?”

“Because – I wonder if that’s what Hugh is trying to do.”

“He wants Leo and Whitley to get married?” Blake scoffed at the idea.

“No, no,” White shook her head. “It’s – well, I’m not really making sense, am I? Just…look out for Leo, please. I’ll do the same from the right wing.”

As she hurried offstage, Blake was reminded of Whitley’s words to him in the hallway. _Keep an eye on Leo during the performance for me. Please?_

What was it that White and Whitley had noticed about the tenor that he wasn’t seeing? It frustrated him that for all his intelligence, he couldn’t solve what he was sure was a simple puzzle. And White’s clue of the plot of the musical about opera…was she suggesting that _he_ intended to marry Whitley? But what did that have to do with Leo Piangi?

Suddenly, Looker came out from the left wing of the stage. “Should we secure the doors now, sir?” he asked hesitantly.

“Y-yes,” Blake replied, a little absently. Perhaps what he needed to do was something he hadn't done since he was a small child: trust that their advice was sound, even though he didn't understand it.

Snapping out of his reverie, Blake commanded, “Secure the doors!”

He heard the sounds of door locks being checked all around the theater. Looker started to go back to the wing, but Blake stopped him. “Looker, I am changing your post,” he said. “I want you to tail Leo Piangi until the performance is over. You cannot follow him onstage, so if he exits stage right, you will need to find a way to get over there immediately. Understood?”

“Y-yes, sir,” Looker stammered.

As Looker slipped backstage, an eerie laugh suddenly echoed through the theater, sending a chill up Blake’s spine. “How wise, Viscount,” a booming, ethereal voice crooned. “My fate will be sealed tonight, it seems. Go on, then…let my musical begin!”

* * *

 Despite the time pressure, the Musical Show came together quite well. Leo was excellent in his role as Don George, a young man who had just become manager of a brand new Battle Club in a town he had never been to before. His family owned a network of these battle facilities across Unova. Leo had learned to play the part of the charismatic gentleman quite well, and believably feigned love bordering on obsession with Joy. Leo had to assure Mr. Reyer a few times in their later rehearsals that he did not really feel anything of the sort towards Whitley; he already had a very sweet girlfriend by the name of Yuki.

Leo had good chemistry with the actor who played Freddy O’Martian, Don George’s best friend in his new city. The young man, Sun, had been to the Musical Theater several times in the past while he worked as a courier, during which he had formed a friendship with the theater’s physician. She encouraged him to audition for the lead role in the 15th season of Musical Shows – the show about opera – and while he didn’t get the part, he was invited to join the chorus. In his next production, he was cast in a supporting role and performed brilliantly; this marked a trend of Sun receiving and performing very well in supporting roles.

True to form, Sun was adept at being the wingman to Leo’s character in _Don George_. He had commented once on the apparently unequal friendship between the two, noting how Freddy is the one who helps bring Joy and Don George together at the beginning and who helps them run away at the end, and yet he apparently doesn’t benefit from the relationship at all. Sun reasoned that there was more to their relationship than the musical showed and decided to fill in the blanks with a backstory of his own. By aiming to tell that story though his performance, Sun was able to portray a believable, strong friendship between Freddy and Don George.

The performance itself ran smoothly until the climax. Since the musical was relatively short, only a single act, it was only an hour and a half into the performance that it reached that point. Joy, who had fallen in love with Don George despite her family’s distrust of his, came with a cousin – played by Yvonne – to a “goodwill banquet” hosted by Don George. He had planned the banquet as a diversion so that he and Joy could run away from the town and start a new life together. While he did not tell Joy the true purpose of the banquet, she had her suspicions about it and would not be surprised when he revealed them to her.

As the characters gathered around the banquet table, Freddy pulled Joy aside and handed her a red rose with a note tied to the stem by a black ribbon. “Per the master’s orders,” he said with a wink, before turning and heading to the other side of the stage.

As he left, Joy untied the ribbon and let it fall to the ground, paying more attention to the note. It was supposed to be blank – just a visual cue for the audience while Whitley recited her line. But to her shock, there was red handwriting on the note.

_Do not disappoint me._

Whitley covered a hand to her mouth, trying to stifle her gasp. _Why would he–?_ But there was no time to dwell on it, only to act. Lowering the hand from her mouth, she stroked the words on the card, hoping to make her reaction seem planned. “Come to the fountain in the courtyard. There we can begin a new chapter in our lives.”

Joy glanced around to make sure none of the banquet attendees were watching as she slipped off to the courtyard. The focus of the scene then shifted to the back-left side of the stage, where Freddy and Don George reviewed their plan: Freddy would disguise himself as Don George, to keep the guests from growing suspicious of their host’s disappearance, while Don George would don a full black cloak so that no one would see his face while he met with Joy. Sun exited stage left while Leo hid behind a curtain on the back wall to put on his cloak. In the meantime, the other guests had also exited while the scene shifters changed the scenery from a banquet hall to a courtyard.

Still holding the rose in her hands, Joy reentered, taking a seat on the edge of the fountain. She watched as four Oricorio, personally trained by the Theater’s choreographer, Tierno, began a short dance routine in front of her, acting as happy wild birds who had found their mates – just as Joy had found in Don George, or would find.

Whitley toyed nervously with the rose, the words on that note imprinted in her mind. _Do not disappoint me._ He wouldn’t worry about her disappointing him if this were just a routine performance; he had more faith in her than that. She also knew that no one had taken over Piangi’s role yet, like the message in her journal warned. There was only one conclusion, then, that she could draw.

Hugh was still going to take over Leo’s role, and he was going to do it _now_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS CHAPTER. THIS GODDAMN CHAPTER. I hate this chapter with a burning passion - not because it's bad, but because it's caused me so much frustration. This chapter was without a doubt the hardest one for me to write. It took me at least a month or two just to finish the first draft, and then I went back and revised that draft at least four times - more than any other chapter. And it's all because of that stupid conversation between White and Blake. The conversation is complicated enough as it is, and the fact that the reader doesn't know what they're talking about is just icing on the fancy red velvet cake. If you figured out exactly what they're talking about, good for you. If you didn't, that's perfectly fine - it'll be explained later. But the point is, there's more to Blake than meets the eye.
> 
> As for the rest of the chapter...Don George Triumphant is basically just a star-crossed lovers story starring Don George and Nurse Joy from the anime. But since it was written by Hugh, it's sort of a self-insert fic for him...and all the while, it's being acted out by Leo and Whitley. It's very meta. Don't get confused. (Freddy O'Martian is an anime-exclusive character too - he's an announcer for a lot of the battle tournaments.)
> 
> With the formal introduction of Sun in this chapter, we've finally met all the characters with POTO counterparts. His counterpart is a minor character who's only known by the name of the part he plays in Don Juan Triumphant, Passarino. While not a major character by any means, Sun has more of a role outside of his performance than Passarino's actor, so I hope you like him. 
> 
> To be honest, until I wrote this chapter, I was still unsure of which character would play Freddy's role - I didn't really want to bring in minor characters from other regions, but I'd already assigned roles to pretty much all the Dexholders and minor Unova characters. I was hesitant to include the Alola Dexholders because we hadn't seen too much of them at that point, but I figured Sun seemed a better choice for the role than either Red or Green. I'm glad I did, because I've discovered that I really enjoy writing him.
> 
> **Up next: What happens when Hugh crashes his own musical...**


	16. Captive

The Oricorio did their synchronized Revelation Dance, the cue for Joy to sing her next line. It was more difficult for her to sing it cheerfully based on what she suspected was about to happen, but faking emotion had always been part of her job. “No thoughts within her head but thoughts of joy,” she sang, voice unwavering. “No dreams within her heart but dreams of love!”

Really, Whitley ought to have figured it out sooner. Hugh had written this whole musical with her in mind; he would love for her to fall in love with him like Joy did with Don George. He couldn’t bear the thought of her singing the final love duet with anyone but him. And even if her warning to Blake had done any good, he couldn’t have put anyone behind the curtain onstage where Don George put on his black cloak. She glanced over her shoulder as the man in black strode confidently out from behind the curtain, stopping a good distance away from her.

And then he began to sing.

“You have come here…in pursuit of your deepest urge…”

It wasn’t quite the rich, sensual voice that she was accustomed to. It sounded like he was trying to make his voice sound more like Leo’s high tenor, to avoid arousing suspicion. But she knew…she suspected she would have realized it even if she hadn’t figured it out before he came onstage.

“In pursuit of that wish which ‘til now has been silent,” he sang, putting a finger to his lips. “Silent,” he repeated. She knew that was how the music was written, but in light of what she now knew it looked like he was telling her not to reveal his deception, not to ruin his musical.

And as much as she thought she should, she knew she couldn’t.

“I have called you that our passions may fuse and merge. In your mind, you’re all ready to come with me, dropped all pretenses, preparing to come with me.” He leaned over and picked up the closest Oricorio to him – the purple Oricorio, Sensu. “Now you are here with me,” he continued, stroking the bird Pokémon’s head with a gloved finger, “no second thoughts, you’ve decided.” He let go of Sensu and it flew to Whitley’s side. “Decided…”

She placed the rose in Sensu’s beak and stood, looking at where she knew Hugh’s eyes were looking back at her. He had planned this all from the beginning, and while she knew the truth, she would do nothing about it.

She really was past the point of no return now.

“Past the point of no return, no backward glances. Our games of make-believe are at an end!” Sensu flew up to meet the pink Oricorio, Pa’u, in midair. The two flew around in a circle, while the red Oricorio, Baile, and the yellow Oricorio, Pom-Pom, twirled underneath them, sending little sparks and flames in every direction. “Past all thought of if or when, no use resisting. Abandon thought and let the dream descend!”

As they approached the Oricorio from opposite sides, Whitley wondered if anyone else had caught on to Hugh’s little trick. Blake, since she had warned him? Yuki, since she knew Leo? Ms. Lefévre, since she knew Hugh?

They broke into the little circle of Oricorio and Hugh grasped both her hands in one of his, singing, “What newfound fire shall flood the soul? What shall inspire us to fight more? What dire connection lies before us?” The passion with which he sang made Whitley a little uncomfortable. He was singing not as Don George, but as Hugh. And as whom would she sing? Joy or Whitley? That was something only she could decide.

“Past the point of no return, the final threshold, what once unspoken secrets will we learn?” He twirled her back out of the Oricorio circle as Sensu landed on his head; Pa’u landed on her head at the same time. Then, they picked up the birds and tossed them into the air; as they glided down to join their companions on the stage, Hugh finished the line: “Beyond the point of no return.”

Now it was Whitley’s turn to sing. She cast her gaze across the audience – hundreds of strangers who came to see a brand-new Musical Show, not a personal quarrel. She closed her eyes, focusing her thoughts. At the very least, she owed it to them to give a good performance. That much she could manage.

“You have brought me to that moment when words run dry, to that moment when speech disappears into silence, silence…” It was true, wasn’t it? She didn’t have any words to give either of them right now. All she could do was perform.

“I have come here, hardly knowing the reason why, yet in my mind I’ve already imagined us leaving together, quickly and silently…” She closed her eyes again and took a deep breath. “Now I am here with you, no second thoughts. I’ve decided, decided…”

Her eyes slowly fluttered open and she barely masked a squeak of surprise. Hugh’s face – though still hidden by the hood of his cloak – was just inches from hers, and he whispered, “What have you decided, my dear?”

The audience couldn’t hear him, and they couldn’t see his mouth moving. No one knew he had spoken a word except for her. He was so _difficult_ sometimes – just when she thought she might be starting to like him, he did _something_ to try to force her hand that only made her want to resist him even more. But if she let herself think about his words, she wouldn’t be able to play her role. Better to play a façade with fake feelings than let herself feel the truth and risk ruining it all.

Slowly stepping away from him, she began her verse of the song. “Past the point of no return, no going back now. Our passion play has now at last begun!” She traced a hand down Hugh’s left arm – the directions for this motion had been quite specific – and grasped his gloved fingers tightly. “Past all thought of right or wrong, one final question: how long should we two wait before we’re gone?”

The Oricorio twirled each other in pairs, a motion which the singers mimicked during Whitley’s next line. “When will the heart begin to race, the still-strong mind give in to love? When will the flood at last consume us?”

“Past the point of no return,” they sang together, “the final threshold. The bridge is crossed, so stand and watch it burn! We’ve passed the point of no return.”

Hugh wrapped one arm around her and pulled her close, and Whitley was suddenly seized by panic. _The end of the song._ She had completely forgotten about it. After they sing the final line, Joy reaches up and lifts Don George’s hood slightly so she can kiss him on the cheek. He must have written that in specifically because of this. She slowly took the edges of his hood in her hands, and she could feel his arm tense up in anticipation. She had played right into his hands, and now she had to give him what he wanted.

And suddenly, that thought helped her find the strength to change things. He was about to win again, and she refused to allow it. She pulled his hood up, but she didn’t stop when she could kiss him on the cheek. She threw it completely off his head, revealing him to the audience. Most of them just seemed surprised that it wasn't Leo under the hood, but some of them – and just about all the cast and crew – recognized that masked face.

Hugh wasn’t concerned with anyone else’s reactions just then. As he pulled away from Whitley, his deep red eyes were focused only on her, and they burned with the sting of rejection and betrayal. “I’m not Joy,” Whitley said, her voice barely above a whisper.

He turned around, unable to meet her eyes, and she did the same. At the same time, Looker and his Croagunk stepped out of the wings on Whitley’s side of the stage, and a blond man flanked by a Tangela emerged on Hugh’s side. Whitley didn’t understand why they were there, but she recognized that their intent was not benevolent; she automatically began to back away from them – only to back into Hugh.

As Whitley turned around to face him again, she could see that the pain in his eyes had been joined by desperation. He grasped her right hand tightly in his left and, in a quiet, trembling voice, he sang, “Say you’ll share with me one love, one lifetime.”

Blake’s song from the roof?

“Lead me, save me from my solitude.”

She didn’t know how he knew it, unless he had been there…

“Say you want me with you here, beside you.”

She could hear the pleading in his voice, and it made her want to cry. He was so skilled at manipulating her emotions…

“Anywhere you go, let me go too!” he cried, full of too much emotion to keep his voice low. “Whitley, that’s all I ask of–”

She ripped off his mask and threw it to the floor before he could finish. She wasn’t sure if the screams she heard were coming from the audience or the man in front of her. It was a terrible thing to do, she knew, but she had to get him to stop singing somehow. She had barely processed the thought while he sang, but she had to hold on to it.

 _Manipulation_. That’s what he had been doing, what he excelled at – psychological manipulation. He had manipulated Bianca through fear, and now he was trying to manipulate her through music. She wouldn’t give in.

However, Hugh wouldn’t give up so easily, either. Once he had recovered from the initial shock of being unmasked, he grabbed Whitley’s hand and pulled her towards the man with the Tangela. When Tangela tried to stop them with its vines, he pulled a Razor Claw out of the folds of his cloak and in one fluid motion used it to slice through the vines.

“They’ll grow back,” he growled in response to Whitley’s gasp of shock.

Hugh dragged Whitley deeper backstage. Past the scenery, past the props, past some surprised crew members, he finally led her through a door that was cleverly hidden in the wooden planks on the wall. This door brought them into a deserted white hallway – white walls, white doors, white tile floor. Based on her internal compass and knowledge of the Theater, Whitley judged that they were somewhere in the costume and makeup department.

He had stopped briefly to observe their surroundings and now set off at a brisk pace down the hall; he was still forcing Whitley to come along with him, but at least she didn’t have to run anymore. He still hadn’t said a word since they left the stage, but Whitley had been through too much with this man to be afraid of him anymore. “What are you doing?” she asked boldly, the determination in her voice surprising even herself.

He didn’t respond, and Whitley tried again. “Let go of my hand,” she demanded, attempting to pull it out of his grasp. However, this only resulted in him gripping her hand tighter.

Suddenly, she heard a door creak open further down the hallway. Gold, a business student interning at the Theater for the summer, stepped out of the room with a yawn.

Ms. Lefévre had been working Gold so hard lately, but more as an errand boy than on actual business matters. He figured she wouldn’t miss him if he took a quick nap during the night’s performance – he didn’t have the energy to stay and drool over the cute sopranos tonight. There were tons of comfy couches and extra fabric for him to whip up a makeshift bed in the costume repair room. He just had to slip in after the performance started and slip back out when the performance was done, which he judged should be happening any moment now.

Gold turned to his right and jumped when he realized that there was someone else in the hallway. “Y-you didn’t – see – I wasn’t…” he stuttered in a panic. However, his expression shifted when he recognized the other man’s infamous half mask. “You…you’re the Phantom, aren’t you? I know you. My boss talks about you a lot.” He scowled. “You really messed her up, you know?”

Hugh fired a sharp glare at him and pulled a sphere out of his cloak. When he tossed it onto the ground, it immediately began releasing purple smoke that soon engulfed all three of them. Whitley had enough sense not to breathe it in. Under the smoke cover, Hugh pulled her through a door to their right, down a hallway and up a staircase, and suddenly they were sprinting again, though she had no idea to where.

He took her through the barren third-floor corridors, moving from Show Wing North to Show Wing West. Whitley had rarely been to this part of the Theater; it was home to the technical producers – light, sound, and prop designers all worked on this floor. In the alcove next to the prop storage room, Hugh shoved aside a couch and pushed open a small rotating panel – about half their height – and yanked Whitley through, into a secret passage. He closed the panel, leaving them in complete darkness, and set off again.

However, they didn’t continue in the passage for long – Hugh stopped and slid open a panel in the wall that led into the Theater’s archives, which held everything from old scripts and scores to the builders’ contracts for the original restoration of the Theater. From there, he took her through the prop storage room and back out into the main hallway. Whitley’s relief at being out in the open again was short-lived – he headed straight for the opposite wall and pushed open a secret sliding panel that brought them back into the secret passages for the final time.

Hugh took her back down to the second floor, where they took what seemed like the most circuitous route possible just to reach another staircase. Whitley couldn’t help sighing loudly when she realized what they were doing; she hated walking around in circles, and Hugh hadn’t bothered to tell her that they were going to or explain why they needed to. In fact, he hadn’t even said a word since they left the stage.

All of a sudden, he stopped and let out a hiss. “How long have you been here?” he growled.

“Since Gold told me how he ran into you,” a different voice replied evenly. It was vaguely familiar, but Whitley couldn’t place it immediately. “I knew you’d have come back here eventually. Though I’ll admit, you stalled for longer than I thought you would – were you trying to shake _them_ off, too?”

“You say that like you’re not the one who conspired with _him_ to bring them here,” Hugh snapped.

“I didn’t!” the voice gasped, sounding almost appalled. “You didn’t hear us arguing about it before the performance?” There was silence, and then a sigh. “Well, I swear I didn’t even know they’d be here tonight. And I’m not about to turn you in to them, either.”

“Then what do you want, woman?” he demanded.

“I want you to let Whitley go.”

 _Ms. Lefévre. That’s who the voice belongs to_ , Whitley realized suddenly. She was the only one who knew Hugh well enough to seek him out and try to stop him.

However, White’s attempt at a civil resolution to the problem was a spectacular failure. Hugh wrested his wrist out of her grasp and before she could react, he had an arm wrapped around her neck and a hand groping around her waist.

“What are you–” Hugh’s arm tightened around her neck, choking off her exclamation. She tried swatting at his hand, but he moved it aside and she heard something clattering to the floor. _Poké Balls_. He was disarming her.

“I’m not going to make the same mistake twice,” he hissed in her ear. “Especially since you wisely chose to intercept me at a place where you can’t see my lovely scars.”

That hadn’t been a factor in White’s plan, but she wouldn’t pretend that it wasn’t reassuring. Just the thought of them made her throat start to tighten up – or was that because he still had her in a tight headlock? She wondered if he was aware that it was becoming harder for her to breathe.

Thankfully, once he had thrown all her Poké Balls away, Hugh did release her throat – enough for her to breathe normally again, at least. She took in a shuddering, gasping breath. Before she could say anything, though, he snarled, “Whitley is coming with me, White. I advise you to recall what happened the last time you set foot in my home without permission, because you will receive much worse scars if it happens again.” He traced his fingers down White’s left arm, stopping at the brace on her hand. “Perhaps I’ll start with the other wrist.”

“You said that was an accident,” Whitley’s voice squeaked out of the darkness. White was surprised – she thought Whitley would have run away as soon as Hugh let go of her.

“I guess we’re all guilty of lying sometimes,” she murmured.

Hugh released White’s neck and she assumed he was fixing to leave with Whitley like he said he would. She didn’t have much time, then. “Hugh, wait,” White called out. “Please, you have to tell me – did you really mean what you said that night?”

He didn’t respond immediately, and White thought that he had decided to ignore her and left already. But then: “That I have known nothing but suffering and illusions of happiness my whole life? Of course.”

“No,” White said, shaking her head. He knew what she was really referring to; she had asked him about it that night, and he avoided answering it then, too. Why was he trying to dodge the question? “That you don’t care who has to suffer for you to get a chance at real happiness. Did you mean that?”

He hesitated again before responding, “I did.”

She heard footsteps, and she knew they were leaving. She could follow them, but she didn’t know that that would do much good. Two months ago, she might not have believed his threat, but she knew better now. There was nothing more she could do to help Whitley directly without putting herself in danger.

It was time to get professional help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first chapter in a while to reference lyrics from the musical, and it's the infamous "Point of No Return". The song is, to put it bluntly, a song about sex. And like I mentioned before, this isn't a story with overtly sexual themes in it. So, my goal when I wrote this chapter was to change the lyrics so that, instead of being a song about sex, it's a song about lovers running away from the rest of the world to be together - which, while it could still be interpreted in a sexual way, it's not the only plausible interpretation. 
> 
> Christine's feelings during this song are highly debatable - how quickly does she recognize the Phantom? how much of her apparent enjoyment is faked? I decided to take the approach that she's aware of who she's singing with the whole time, but it's all acting. My beta wondered why she wouldn't disrupt the scene any earlier, but I just don't think she wanted to ruin the performance for the audience unless she really had to, and she doesn't feel that she really has to until the scripted kiss with Don George. (Hugh may have been pushing his luck a little with that one.)
> 
> This scene was actually one of the earliest ones I wrote - at the beginning of the writing process, before I was really planning on writing a full story, I was just writing out scenes from the movie with Pokémon added in (hence the Oricorio). I obviously elaborated on Whitley's thoughts more in the final draft, and I also changed the ending of the scene. Initially, I wrote in the Interpol officers to be armed with guns and the blond one tried to shoot Hugh, but Meloetta stopped the bullet before it hit him. But even in the Pokéspe world, nobody's armed with guns, and I couldn't come up with any Pokemon moves that would feasibly function like a bullet (besides Tru's Razor Leaf Diamond Special Mach One-And-Only, but Dia would never use that to attack a person and I'm not sure that even Meloetta could react fast enough to stop that attack). So I revised the scene to arm both the blond one and Looker with Pokémon instead.
> 
> We also finally get to see some of Hugh's tricks that don't involve Meloetta. I always figured that he had some, since he only met Meloetta when he moved to the Theater, but it wasn't until I wrote that conflict between the two back in chapter 13 that I thought about the fact that Hugh would want to have tricks up his sleeve that don't involve Meloetta so that he doesn't have to rely on her so much. So I literally just pulled out my old BW Pokédex and guidebook and went through the whole list of items in the back of the book, marking all the ones that could possibly be useful for Hugh to give him an arsenal of items to choose from. His full arsenal includes: Absorb Bulbs, a Binding Band, BrightPowder, Escape Ropes, a Flame Orb, an Iron Ball, Light Clay, a Razor Claw, Smoke Balls, Sticky Barbs, Toxic Orbs, and a Zoom Lens. However, he only uses about half of them over the course of the story.
> 
> I think I had a bit too much fun with Hugh and White's encounter in this chapter...if you'd like to know about the night they're alluding to, check out the newest chapter of The Musical Archives, "Victories"!
> 
> **Up next: What everyone else did after _Don George_ ended...**


	17. Lost and Found

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We just crested the halfway point with that last chapter! Thanks for sticking around this long!
> 
> Now, for a brief announcement. I'm starting college next week, so the rest of this week and beginning of next week will be dedicated to moving in and getting settled. I have no idea how much time I'll have for writing and posting once classes start, so there's a chance this story may end up on a little hiatus while I get settled into college life. Definitely don't expect any new one-shots from me anytime soon, though. 
> 
> But I digress...let's see what this adventure has in store!

As Hugh dragged Whitley deeper backstage, pandemonium broke out in the theater - cries and screams from the audience, movement on the stage. Looker and Croagunk sprinted after Hugh and Whitley while the blond officer nursed his Tangela. Blake finally made it onto the stage himself, accompanied by Dewott. Yuki dashed to the curtain Leo was supposed to change behind and let out a cry, startling the Oricorio; Leo was unconscious behind the curtain. As more cast and crew members hurried onstage, some audience members sprinted for the doors, only to be halted by the officers guarding them.

“E-everyone, please calm down!” Diamond called, frantically grabbing Sun’s microphone. “There’s no need to panic, now!” His quivering voice wasn’t reassuring.

White quickly snatched the microphone away from him. “Everyone, the authorities are here. Please follow their instructions to exit the theater in a calm and orderly fashion. Thank you.”

She gave the microphone back to Diamond and shot a pointed look at the blond officer who was still onstage. He stared at White for a moment before glancing over his shoulder, and then back at her. “Listen to her!” Blake said. “I will follow them. White, are you…?”

She glanced around the stage quickly; it appeared that everyone else had already exited, aside from Tierno, Cheren, Sun, and the Theater’s physician, Moon. They were trying to catch the panicking Oricorio. Her assistance wasn’t needed. “I’ll come with you,” White nodded. “For Whitley.”

While the stage itself was mostly clear, backstage was not. Since Sun and Moon had both been recruited to help Tierno calm down his Pokémon, Yuki had taken it upon herself to move Leo someplace quiet and comfortable so Moon could examine his injuries later. Xavier and Shauna had come onstage to look for Yvonne, so Yuki flagged them down and requested their help. Xavier helped her carry Leo, while Shauna went ahead to the costume repair room to find something soft for them to lay him on.

The thing she picked was a plush white bench that had enough room to lay Leo down on and still have space for Yuki to sit next to him. She ran a hand through his black locks, gradually teasing out the hair gel he’d used for the performance. Shauna and Xavier, not wanting to linger about awkwardly, were just about to leave when Yvonne strode in, still decked in the frilly pink gown her character wore to the banquet.

“Oh, _there_ you are,” she said airily. “I was wondering where you had run off to. Come, we’re leaving.”

“Dressed like that?” Shauna asked, eyeing Yvonne’s wardrobe.

“Dressed like – oh.” Yvonne looked down at herself as though she had forgotten she was still in costume. “Well, this room is part of the costume department, is it not? Thus, there ought to be someone from the costume department who will help me get out of this fusty frill fest.”

“There would be, if the show hadn’t just gotten hijacked by a mad virtuoso,” Yuki commented icily. “Or were you too wrapped up in your own little world to notice your coworkers getting assaulted and kidnapped?”

“Oh, I noticed all right,” she hissed. “And I _celebrated_.”

Yuki’s hand froze in Leo’s hair. “Excuse me?”

“That Fiorian soprano has been nothing but trouble for me since she left the ballet chorus,” Yvonne sneered. “You say she was kidnapped; I say good riddance!”

“What the _hell_ !” Yuki screeched, shooting to her feet. “You take that back right now, you…you selfish _jerk_ !” She stormed across the room and grabbed the collar of Yvonne’s dress, yanking the taller woman towards her. Shauna and Xavier stepped forward to defend Yvonne, but Yuki paid them no attention. “How would _you_ feel if your best friend had been kidnapped by someone as unstable as him? Oh, wait,” she continued scathingly, “you wouldn’t know. You’re too busy deriding everyone else to make _friends_ with them.”

Yuki shoved past the diva, but she paused at the door to glance over her shoulder. Yvonne was staring at her slack-jawed, and when she met Yuki’s eyes she deliberately looked away. It was the first time she’d seen evidence that Yvonne felt any emotions besides contempt, pride, and anger. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a friend who needs help,” she said smugly. Then she slammed the door behind her.

Yuki knew more about the Phantom than most people at the Theater. She knew his name was Hugh and he lived somewhere in the Musical Theater, and she knew that her mom had been regularly contacted by him ever since he was hired as a stagehand nine years ago. She also knew that her mom had begun to regard him with caution when he assumed the role of the Phantom because she didn’t want to risk incurring his wrath. However, that was a risk that Yuki was willing to take for the sake of helping her friend.

She set off in search of her mother with the hope that she would know where Hugh might have taken Whitley. After searching for about half an hour, she finally heard a crash that came from Reflection Hall, and she hurried up there to investigate.

Ruby was standing near the entrance, breathing heavily; his Gardevoir had taken a knee beside him. By the southernmost wall of the room, Mrs. Giry crouched beside her Haxorus on top of a pile of reflective shards – the mirror on that wall had been shattered. But in the mirrors that were still intact, Yuki saw the reflected image of the attacker, a black body with a white face and a green head of hair – Meloetta.

Meloetta saw Yuki in the mirrors at the same time. She fired a Focus Blast at Yuki’s feet – a warning shot that drew Ruby and Iris’s attention to her as well. Iris looked concerned, but Ruby’s face brightened. “Yuki, help me out!” Ruby exclaimed.

Yuki nodded and sent out her Wingull. “Use Water Pulse!” she shouted.

“Rara, Shadow Ball!” Ruby commanded.

Meloetta easily avoided the two projectiles and retaliated with two Shadow Balls of her own. “Dodge it!” Ruby and Yuki shouted at the same time. Their Pokémon obeyed the commands, the stray attacks hitting the mirrors on the wall but not with enough force to break them.

“Hey, Iris,” Ruby called, “you wouldn’t happen to have any other Pokémon on you, would you?”

“What do I look like, the Pokémon League Champion? Of course not!” Iris retorted.

“Just thought I’d ask,” he muttered.

Meloetta’s hands crackled with electricity, and she fired a Thunderbolt at Wingull. “Protect!” Yuki called quickly, and Wingull created a shield of green energy in front of itself that absorbed the attack.

“Do _you_ have any other Pokémon on you?” Yuki asked Ruby.

“Only one that she hasn’t knocked out already,” Ruby said. “Rara, use Imprison again!”

Rara lifted her arms over her head, sending an invisible pulse of energy at Meloetta that sealed her Shadow Ball and Psychic attacks. In response, she dove towards Rara with a glowing green fist. Rara prepared to intercept the attack, but failed to notice Meloetta’s other fist light up with flame until it was too late. The Fire Punch slammed into Rara’s chest, knocking her to the ground.

“Rara!” Ruby cried, but his Pokémon didn’t stir. He groaned and returned her. “I just had to say it,” he muttered. Then he leaned over and whispered into Yuki’s ear, “Can Wingull make use of rain?”

“Yeah,” Yuki whispered back.

“Perfect. Cover me.”

Ruby sent out a round, gray Pokémon that hovered a few inches above the ground. In the meantime, Meloetta fired another Thunderbolt at Wingull, and Yuki commanded it to deflect it with Protect again.

“Careful, Protect won’t work if you rely on it too much,” Iris warned her.

“I know that, Mom,” Yuki scowled. “I did graduate from the Trainer’s School.”

“I told you to cover me!” Ruby shouted. Meloetta was charging at Ruby’s Castform, her fist glowing green again. “Fofo, dodge it, quick!”

Fofo evaded the first swing of Meloetta’s glowing fist, but she stuck out a leg to stop Fofo from escaping and repositioned herself so that Fofo was in range of her fist again. She swung her fist and–

“Quick Attack!” Wingull shot towards Meloetta like an arrow, striking her in an instant and knocking her away from Fofo. Meloetta recovered quickly, but Wingull had bought enough time for Fofo to launch and attack of her own.

“Rain Dance!” Ruby exclaimed, a huge grin on his face. Fofo’s body began to glow with a bright white light while a dark gray cloud formed over their heads, near the ceiling of the hall. The glow faded as rain began to fall, but Fofo had changed into her Rainy Form: blue and teardrop-shaped, sitting on a miniature gray storm cloud.

Yuki was also grinning from ear to ear. “Wingull!” she called. “Use Hurricane!” Wingull let out a harsh cry and flapped its wings, causing a cold breeze to blow through the room. As the wind picked up speed, it also began to pick up the falling rain, forming into a vortex of swirling wind and water centered around Meloetta. The onslaught of wind and water took its toll on Meloetta; when the storm finally dissipated, the Melody Pokémon collapsed on the floor.

“We did it!” Yuki cheered, turning to give Ruby a high five. But Ruby was holding a Poké Ball and watching Meloetta with a critical eye.

“No,” he finally said, “she hasn’t fainted yet.”

Yuki gaped at him and swiveled around to face Meloetta. “Are you sure?”

“Very,” he said, “but there’s only one way to be certain.” And he threw the Poké Ball at Meloetta. Meloetta was sucked inside.

_Bmp._

_Bmp._

_Bmp._

_Click!_

“Y-you caught her,” Yuki said, dumbfounded.

“Yep,” Ruby beamed. He stepped forward to pick up his newly captured Pokémon. “ _Now_ , we’ve done it.”

“But...why?” Iris asked, shaking her head. “Why would you want to catch Meloetta?”

“Well, she’s strong, she’s graceful, she’s versatile, and she can’t help the Phantom when she’s on our side,” Ruby said, ticking the reasons off on his fingers. “What other reason do you need?”

“That’s exactly the problem,” Iris argued. “Just because you captured her doesn’t mean she’ll automatically start listening to everything you say. How do you know she won’t just go back to helping the Phantom once you let her out of that ball?”

“You make a fair point,” Ruby said calmly, “but I know what to do about that.”

He lifted up Meloetta’s Poké Ball and tilted it so that he could see inside its semi-transparent lid. “Meloetta, I know that if I let you out of here right now, you won’t listen to me,” he told her. “So, until you’re ready to listen to me, you’re staying right in there. Understood?” Meloetta had gathered enough strength to glare at him, but Ruby merely tucked the Poké Ball back into his belt of makeup supplies. “She’ll warm up to the idea in time.”

“Hang on,” Yuki interrupted, “how did you guys end up fighting Meloetta in here, anyways?”

“I was helping to escort people out of the viewing boxes in the theater,” Iris explained. “There shouldn’t have been anyone in Box Five, but I checked in there anyways just to be safe. I found Meloetta instead.”

“I was escorting people out of the mezzanine level when I happened to glance up and see Meloetta shoot out of it,” Ruby continued. “I sent out my Swampert and Milotic to continue escorting people while I followed Meloetta. Iris joined me, and we chased her all the way here before she finally stopped to battle us.”

“And what about you?” Iris asked. “How did you find us here?”

“I was looking for you because…” Yuki blinked, trying to remember the reason she was looking for her mom in the first place. “Right! Because of Whitley. Mom, do you know where Hugh would have brought her?”

“No, I don’t,” Iris said, putting her hands on her hips. “But I do know that you’re not having anything do with him if I can help it. It’s dangerous for you to get involved with him!”

Yuki stared at her mom, dumbstruck. Finally, she found her voice again. “I know it’s dangerous, Mom!” she shouted. “But – that battle with Meloetta was dangerous, too, and I held my own with her just fine. And what about Whitley? She didn’t get to choose if she wanted to be kidnapped or not, and now he could be doing all kinds of cruel, awful things to her! And you’re telling me that I have to just stand here and do _nothing_ about it?”

Her voice caught on the last few words, and she dropped her gaze to the ground, taking a few shuddering breaths. When her breathing started to even out again, she looked back at her mom. She was only looking mournfully back at her daughter. “I can’t believe you, Mom,” Yuki whispered hoarsely. “I thought you cared about Whitley, too.”

Yuki spun around on her heel and strode out of Reflection Hall. She didn’t know where she was going. Anywhere was better than here. Maybe she’d go back to her dressing room. As she headed there, she noticed that the door that led to stage left was still propped open. Without really thinking about it, she found her feet taking her back onto the stage.

It was still set up for the courtyard scene that had never been completed. She started to sit down on the edge of the fountain, but out of the corner of her eye she noticed a splash of white in the middle of the stage. She stopped and picked it up, turning the object over and over again in her hands. This was the stupid piece of plastic, or porcelain, or whatever it was made of that covered the man who had caused Yuki so much grief as of late. She shuddered to think of what it must be like for Whitley to be in his company without it.

“He really looks much better with that thing on.”

Yuki jumped and glanced to the side, where Yvonne had just emerged from the left wing. She folded her arms across her chest and scowled. “What do you want, Lady Gābena?”

“The same things as everyone else,” Yvonne replied. “Freedom. Happiness. Love. Respect.”

“Oh, you know what I meant,” Yuki snapped, but Yvonne wasn’t finished.

“I also want to be true to myself,” she continued solemnly. “But I always thought that it was impossible to do that and still be successful, especially in a profession where your job is to play different roles. In order to _be_ the leading soprano, I had to _play_ the leading soprano. And that’s what I’ve always done.”

Yuki dropped her arms to her sides, still holding on to the white half-mask. “What do you mean?” she asked.

“I’m not a…how did you put it? A ‘selfish jerk’ by nature,” Yvonne said. “But I’ve acted that way since I became leading soprano at this Theater because I thought I had to.”

“Did you ever interact with Yellow at all?” Yuki retorted. “She was a great prima donna, and she was the sweetest person I’ve ever met!”

Yvonne shook her head. “That’s exactly why she retired. She enjoyed singing, but she just wasn’t cut out for the life of a lead. When White picked me as her successor, Yellow warned me that I wouldn’t survive if I couldn’t be mean.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to be mean to everyone all the time!”

Yvonne sighed and sat down on the edge of the fountain. “I know. But once I started playing the big bad boss and people still listened to me, it was easy to keep that up.” She shook her head again. “I didn’t come here to defend my actions to you. I came here because I thought about everything you said, and…I apologize for saying that I was glad Whitley had been kidnapped. It was callous of me to be so inconsiderate. If it was my best friend who had been kidnapped by the Phantom, I would react the same way.”

Yuki blinked and stared down at the soprano. This night was just one surprise after another. She’d never thought that she would have to decide between accepting an apology from Yvonne or not. But at least the choice was easy to make. “I forgive you,” she said. “There’s no point in holding grudges when we have a common enemy to fight.”

“Thank you,” Yvonne said, managing a little smile. “But how do we go about fighting him?”

Yuki sighed and looked down at the mask in her hands. “Well…that’s the problem. I don’t think we can.”

“Perhaps we should make ourselves useful in other ways,” Yvonne suggested. “Moon still needs to look at Leo, right?”

“Right,” Yuki said, brightening up a little. “Can you and Xavier and Shauna move him to the clinic, Yvonne? I’ll go look for Moon.”

“Just call me Y,” Yvonne said. “That’s how my friends address me.”

Yuki raised an eyebrow at her. Was that her way of asking Yuki to be her friend? But the idea of being friends with Yvonne wasn’t as inconceivable – or objectionable – as it had been at the beginning of their conversation. “Y it is, then,” she said. “Let’s get to work.” 

* * *

 Blake was not used to simply losing someone he was trying to follow.

And now it had happened twice.

Admittedly, neither time had he actually seen Whitley or the Phantom. The first time it had been Looker who lost them when they went through a secret door backstage. The second time it was Gold who had seen them and reported it to White. They had split up to search the corridor, but he and Looker had not been able to pick up their trail. The fact that he wasn’t really to blame for losing them didn’t stop it from nagging on his brain; failure was not something he was accustomed to, seeing as it had never happened before. The worst part was that he only failed when the person who he loved more than anyone else in the world – really, the _only_ person that he loved in the world – was the one in danger.

Or, perhaps she wasn’t in danger at all? That thought was almost equally terrifying. Here was a man who had proven himself to have a practically nonexistent moral compass, capable of blackmail, kidnapping, and psychological torture. This same man had apparently been Whitley’s voice teacher for six years, and treated her with respect the whole time. Which was the man that wanted to keep her with him forever?

These thoughts tormented Blake’s mind as he and Looker fruitlessly combed the emptying hallways of the Musical Theater in search of Whitley and the Phantom. Most of the cast and crew had already gone home; the ones that hadn’t were either gathered in the clinic or rounding up straggling audience members. Yet there was still no sign of the one cast member that Blake desperately wanted to see.

Finally, after what seemed like several hours of searching that couldn’t have been more than one, Blake and Looker ran into Ms. Lefévre again. She had a pensive look on her face that suggested she had learned something. “Have you made any progress, ma’am?” Looker asked hopefully.

“Yes,” White sighed. “I found them heading to his home. If you wish, I can guide you there…”

“Of course!” Blake’s heart jumped at her words. The idea of the Phantom bringing Whitley to his home again terrified him, but at least he knew where they were. Or, Ms. Lefévre did. “Take us there at once!”

White shook her head. “I’m helping you for Whitley’s sake, not for the sake of the law. I will only guide you there, Blake. Looker cannot come with you.”

“If that is what it takes, we will do it,” Blake responded immediately. “Looker, help usher people out of the Theater, if there are any left. Otherwise, wait in the foyer for more instructions. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Looker replied with a terse nod. “Croagunk, let’s go!”

As the two of them sprinted off, White turned back to Blake. “There’s one more thing you have to know,” she said. “I’ll show you the way to his home, but I can’t accompany you inside. You’ll have to rescue her on your own.”

“Why?”

“Because he promised to treat me to a special kind of torture if I set foot down there again,” White said. “I’m not exactly keen to find out what that entails.”

“Do you not believe that he would try the same tactic on me?” Blake asked.

“He might try,” White replied, “but you’re trained to avoid that sort of stuff. And even if you weren’t, you’d be willing to endure it all for Whitley, right?”

“Correct on both accounts,” Blake said with a slight smirk, though it faded away as quickly as it had appeared. “However, I believe in this case the task will be easier with the both of us. The Phantom is not a Pokémon Trainer, and we both are. Between me and our Pokémon, he will be hard-pressed to even lay a finger on you.”

“I’m not sure whether to be exasperated by your arrogance or stunned by the fact that you’re actually asking for help,” White deadpanned.

When he put it that way, the choice seemed obvious. But she remembered how quickly she’d lost that advantage on her last trip to the basement, and why that had happened. He wasn’t even wearing his mask now. As much as she wished she could, she just didn’t have the strength to confront her old friend face to face.

She shook her head. “I can’t come with you, Blake. That’s my final answer. If you keep insisting on it, I just won’t lead you there at all.” Blake sighed and nodded reluctantly. “Now, the closest passage entrance to here is in the dance studio. So, let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is definitely the one that changed the most between the original draft and the final draft. I mean, this chapter started as a couple of paragraphs that were supposed to go in the previous chapter to give everyone else's reactions to Hugh kidnapping Whitley. But then I realized that there were a good 15 characters that would be around to react to the events, and even combining some of the minor characters' reactions wouldn't make it all fit in a couple of paragraphs. Plus, I needed a reason for Meloetta to leave Hugh alone for the final showdown. So, I cut those paragraphs out and expanded them into a full chapter.
> 
> But even that full chapter was nothing like the chapter you just read. For one, since Yuki and Leo weren't a couple in the first draft, it was Sun who found him behind the curtain and Ruby who brought him backstage. Then, instead of the conflict between Y and Yuki, I had Hugh leave an ominous note in Leo's costume that Ruby had to go get Iris to decipher, which led them to believe that he planned to kill Whitley. (I took it out because it didn't add any tension to the final showdown and I didn't have a good way to reveal the *actual* meaning of the note.) Additionally, Meloetta didn't put up a fight against Iris and Yuki - she let herself get caught so she could give a little exposition before leaving the Theater for good, but it felt too contrived. Finally, there was an additional scene with Blake, Looker, and White attempting to chase after Hugh and Whitley that I took out because it just kinda needlessly lengthened the chapter. 
> 
> But with all that said and done, I actually really like this chapter. It's one of my favorites to read. Unlike chapter 15, where I just kept revising the same scene over and over again, most of this chapter was completely revamped pretty late into the writing process, so I haven't read and reread it so many times that I'm sick of it (lol). Plus, I love getting to show the character development of these minor characters - especially Yvonne, who wasn't originally planned to get any character development at all. I hope it didn't seem too sudden.
> 
> **Up next: Hugh brings Whitley to his home, and she discovers that he has a dark secret...**


	18. Dark Fate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience, everybody! It was nice to have a couple weeks' break from this story...during which time I wrote a new one-shot, added a new chapter to TMA, and started developing an idea for a new multichapter fic. I just can't stay away from writing for long. But don't worry, this story is still my main priority!
> 
> I've also got a small announcement to make: from now on, I'm not putting those super-duper-long author's notes at the end of the chapter. There are a few reasons for that: they require a lot of time and brainpower to write, which delays chapter releases when I'm low on those; I don't think anybody's really reading them; and, especially in these next few chapters, it's really hard for me to go into detail with my choices without discussing topics in later chapters. That's not to say I won't be making any notes at all, because I still love talking about these characters, but I won't ramble on as much and I won't be discussing specific details like references and costume notes.
> 
> ...I say that, but I also want to mention that this chapter's title comes from one of the lines in Final Lair: "The tears I might have shed for your dark fate / grow cold, and turn to tears of hate."
> 
> And on that happy note, enjoy the chapter!

Whitley stared at the gloved hand that was pulling her along, which she could see now that they were in a passage with dim lighting. His grip was firm and unyielding; she didn't think her hand was going to bruise, but it was certainly starting to go numb from the constant pressure. She was wary of Hugh again after their strange encounter with Ms. Lefévre. He didn't care who had to suffer for him to have a chance at happiness…did that mean that he wouldn't have any qualms with hurting her?

Seemingly sensing her discomfort, he stopped at the top of a staircase lit by a single lightbulb, the same one on which she had seen his eyes for the first time. And at the top of this staircase, he finally looked back and spoke to  _her_. "You have brought this upon yourself, child," he said. The sickly skin on the left side of his face had not improved any since the last time she saw it, and she had to fight back her instinctive reaction to flinch. He was right – it was only  _her_  actions that led to him baring his face before her this time, and this time she had not held on to his mask so he could replace it.

But his words stung her even more than any revulsion she might have had at seeing his face. "I'm just a  _child_  again?" Whitley snapped. "Didn't you promise to never address me that way once I was legally an adult?"

"I promised to do so only as long as you behaved as such," he replied with a snarl, yanking her down the staircase with such force that she slipped on a step and nearly fell over. He didn't seem to notice.

Back when he had first come to her as the Angel of Music, he always addressed Whitley as "child". She had accepted it for the first few years, but as she grew older that moniker started to feel patronizing rather than endearing. She brought this up to him after a lesson once, and he promised to stop calling her a child on her 18th birthday. Whitley never felt so mature and respected as she did the first time that her angel addressed her by name. Hearing him return to that form of address pained her in a way that she could not explain in words. Did those months they spent having lessons face-to-face mean  _nothing?_

Her stomach dropped as she suddenly realized what he felt listening to her pour out all her worries to Blake on the roof of the Theater eight months ago. In her terror, she had acted as though that night in his home and the performance of  _Il Dolore Reale_  were all she knew of him. And now, in his pain, he was treating her like the child she had been tonight when she exposed his deformed face for the whole audience to see.

_But that was different_ , she argued with herself.  _Hugh's actions that night were inexcusable. What I did tonight was justified._

_I could have covered my ears, or stomped on his foot, or just waited for him to stop singing. I didn't need to publicly humiliate him._

_Am I seriously comparing knocking Buquet out of the rafters to taking off Hugh's mask in the middle of a performance?_

_The comparison's not that far off._

This debate continued in Whitley's mind as Hugh dragged her the rest of the way to the secret cellar he called home.

Meloetta was not waiting for them at the lakeshore to light the candles. Instead, Hugh pulled a bright red Flame Orb out of his cloak that cast a reddish glow on their surroundings. He cradled the orb delicately in the tips of his fingers to maximize the reach of its light – and to minimize the contact he made with the orb. Even with his leather gloves on, the orb was scalding hot.

Once they had crossed the lake, he shoved Whitley down on the bed and turned away. She immediately shot back onto her feet, more out of a desire to rebel than to actually go anywhere; he affixed her with a glare over his shoulder that suggested her decision to stand in place was a wise one. Then he headed to the back wall where a small holder, like a torch, hung and placed the Flame Orb inside it. It cast its dim red glow over the whole area.

Next, Hugh walked over to his desk and pulled a plastic cup out of one of its drawers. Then he turned back and walked to the edge of the lake. Crouching down, he scooped a cupful of water out of the lake and poured it back out a foot further along the shore. It was quite an odd sight; the water spread out across what appeared to be thin air and then trickled down in arbitrary places towards the lake. Whitley knew it shouldn't look any odder than their walk across the lake, but the translucent liquid confirming the presence of something where her eyes told her there was nothing was more unnerving.

After watching the water drip down for a few moments, Hugh straightened up. Then, he swiftly raised his foot and brought it down on the edge of the invisible bridge. His foot met brief resistance before a squelching sound signaled that the bridge was starting to lose purchase; he removed his foot, and a quiet splash indicated that the bridge had continued its descent into the lake.

He removed his left glove and bent down, rubbing his exposed fingers along the water's edge. He lifted his hand up and examined his fingers; there was a light green residue on them. "Light Clay," he said, wiping it off and replacing his glove. "Malleable when wet. Rigid when dry. An effective, natural adhesive."

Finally, he turned back to look at his abducted companion. "You must get changed," he said resolutely. "As lovely as you look in that dress, it's simply not suitable for long-term wear."

Whitley eyed him warily. What was he playing at? "My clothes are still in my dressing room," she said slowly. "I have to go back up to get them."

He waved a hand dismissively. "You won't need those. I've laid out some things for you on the bed behind that blue curtain, so go on in." He pushed her towards the curtain.

Whitley had had enough. She sidestepped and turned to face him as he stumbled past where she had been a moment before. When he turned the right, unblemished side of his face towards her to look at her, her arms were folded and she was glaring at him. "What the  _hell_  are you trying to do?" she demanded. "You crash your own musical, drag me down here, and destroy my only means of escape, and now you expect me to go change into  _your_ clothes in  _your_ bedroom like that's the most natural thing in the world? I'm not playing your stupid little game, Hugh!"

If he had cooled down before, his temper now flared up again, and he turned to face her completely. "This is no  _game_ , child! This day is a very important one, you see, because we're going to fix the mistakes of the past by beginning our future… _together_!"

Whitley took a step back. "Wh-what are you talking about?" she stammered. "The mistakes of the past? A future together?" He couldn't possibly mean…she wasn't ready for  _marriage_. And certainly not to someone as volatile as him!

"That's right," he said, his tone an odd mixture of sorrow and anger. "You don't know. Then, allow me to enlighten you. You see, on this day – August 8th, nineteen years ago – the most important person in my life was violently ripped away from me."

"What…what do you mean?"

"Ah, you say that as if you don't already know!" He laughed bitterly. "Weren't you listening to Piangi's lamentations before the performance, dear girl? About the monster who 'killed' his first love? I thought you had figured it out as soon as he told you. You're not dumb, my dear…"

Whitley's face paled as she realized what he was implying. "B-but…he said that kid's name was–"

"And do you know mine?" Hugh folded his arms and tilted his head upwards, narrowing his eyes at her. "You know that I  _told_  you to call me Hugh. But what if I also told you, my dear, that my  _name_ …the name that I shed because it bears the scars that my dear mother inflicted upon it…is Erik? Would you believe me then?"

Whitley's eyes widened, any remaining traces of her earlier bravado fleeing. Her muscles locked in place, and she couldn't manage to squeak out anything more than a whimper. Not that she really knew what she would say, even if she could speak – the man who had just trapped her down here in the basement of the Musical Theater essentially just confessed to murdering his own sister. The ridiculous thought came to her, unbidden –  _is he going to kill me, too?_

The deformed half of Hugh's lips twisted into a sneer, revealing a few jagged teeth. "I thought you might trust me a little more than that," he snarled. He suddenly unfurled his arms and lunged forward, grabbing Whitley's wrist and pulling her close to him. She did her best to meet his gaze without flinching. "With a face like this, no one ever has any doubts that I'm capable of murder!"

He stared into her wide, gray eyes for a few moments more before he released her with a harsh sigh and stepped back. "My mother was the first one to accuse me," he said quietly. "My mother, who wrapped my face in bandages to hide it from the world. My mother, who adorned my right cheek with scars that never faded to remind me just how much she loathes me."

Whitley couldn't help glancing at Hugh's right cheek, which lacked any scars that she could see. Then again, it was absent of any sort of blemish – that whole half of his face was entirely smooth, pale skin, aside from a slightly raised line on the cheek. There was something artificial about it; there was no real color in the skin at all, and it reflected the light in an odd way. It was like the right side of his face was hidden behind a different sort of mask.

"No one was interested in hearing the monster's testimony when even the one responsible for his existence condemned him," Hugh continued, folding his arms and staring at the wall next to him. "I was planning to run away from my mother alone, but my sister insisted on coming with me when she found out what I was doing. We spent those months living out in the forest together; she went into the city in disguise during the day to earn a living for the two of us. For the first time, I actually had an idea of what happiness felt like. She left me a note that day saying she was going to return late, so I had no idea anything was wrong until days passed and she never returned." He glanced at her without turning his head. "That's the truth, my dear Whitley. I have never ended another person's life before, and I never intend to. That's a torment I don't wish even on my enemies."

Hugh sighed and walked to his desk, leaning on it with both palms flat against its surface. "You asked me, when we first met, why I chose to teach you," he murmured. "Perhaps now you will understand why I could not have had it any other way." He risked another glance over his shoulder at Whitley.

She was crying.

Hugh slammed his hands on the desk and stormed over to her. He gripped her right shoulder and used his right finger and thumb to jerk her chin up and look at him. "I don't need your tears of pity," he hissed. "I need your  _love_."

The anger flooded out of his body as soon as his mind caught up to his mouth. He let go of her shoulder and slowly let his hands fall to his sides, no longer able to meet her gaze. He took a few deep breaths and said slowly, "So, I would appreciate it if you would go change out of that dress."

Whitley was too stunned to do anything but nod mechanically and slip behind the curtain that he had mentioned. Of course, she had long suspected the nature of his feelings towards her, but to hear him actually say it out loud made it official, irreversible. The circumstances in which he said it made it even more jarring, demanding her affections right after admitting to being abused and accused of murder as a child.

Was the accusation unfounded, though? Whitley wasn't sure. It wouldn't be the first time that he lied to her to earn her trust, but the emotion in his voice when he spoke of his little sister sounded so authentic. She didn't think he was lying when he called her the most important person in his life. And in that case, it didn't make sense that he would want to kill her.

She felt a twinge of guilt, then, because while she believed now that he was being honest about never having killed anyone, she had been so quick to believe that he  _had_ killed before. Yet it wasn't because of his appearance, like he assumed. His face hardly bothered her now. She believed he had killed because of his volatile temper, his manipulative nature, and his capacity to torture without remorse.

In other words, his face held no horrors compared to the distortion in his soul.

* * *

As soon as Whitley disappeared behind the curtain, Hugh allowed himself to slump to the ground in exhaustion. His emotional outburst when confronted with both Whitley and memories of his sister had drained him, but if he knew anything about his Whitley, this was far from the last battle he would have to fight tonight. Plus, he wasn't so naïve as to think that he'd seen the last of White or the viscount, either. No, he anticipated he had a lot more resistance to get past before he could let himself rest for real.

The only issue he created by allowing himself to take a breather was that all the abuse his injuries had taken that night caught up to him. For as much as he made sure the choreography for his duet didn't involve him using his right hand, there were still several motions that involved only the fingers – and the leather fingered gloves he had chosen tended to rub against the back of his hand whenever the fingers made contact with something else. Even simple motions like stroking Sensu's head and throwing a Smoke Ball were painful.

Of course, the cause of the worst pain – the constant throbbing in his right wrist – was that damned White Lefévre. She knew exactly what she was doing when she grabbed it, and he almost regretted exposing that little secret to her knowing that she had used that knowledge against him. But if he hadn't, his whole plan probably would have ended on that night two months ago – and he could tolerate a few hours of throbbing discomfort to keep his Whitley.

Taking off the gloves did provide a bit of relief, though. And the loose cloak he wore didn't rub against the skin nearly as much as a shirt would have. However, the long train of the cloak was getting to be annoying, and it certainly didn't make sense for Whitley to change out of her costume while he stayed in his. He would have just taken it off then and there if it weren't for the fact that he had  _no_  desire to stride around shirtless in front of Whitley.

Hugh got back up on his feet and headed for the blue curtain. It was high time that he had a little outfit change himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Hoopa voice* Were you surprised?
> 
> Feels good to peel back that important layer of Hugh's psyche. See, even in an alternate universe, his little sister is integrally linked to his character motivations.
> 
> **Up next: That outfit change is more important than you think.**


	19. Exposed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, let me just say that I am so sorry that this chapter took a whole month to post. I needed to iron out a couple little details but college left me no time to think about them. In case you've forgotten what's going on, a brief recap of the last chapter: Hugh brought Whitley down to his home and revealed that he was the kid from Leo's story whose sister (Mackenzie) was Leo's first crush; however, he didn't kill her like everyone believed. He sent Whitley into his room to change into an outfit he picked out for her and then decided to change clothes himself. And when he does...

“Whitley? May I enter?”

Whitley squeaked in surprise, and then replied, “I…haven’t changed yet.”

“That’s fine,” Hugh said, pushing aside the curtain and entering his bedroom.

Whitley eyed him a little nervously when he first entered the room. She had been perusing his bookshelves, which were the first thing that caught her attention once she had sorted through her thoughts. There was a decent-sized collection of books on them, but they also held many small items that she recognized as hold items for Pokémon – a Zoom Lens, a Magnet, and a bag of Bright Powder, among others. She thought at first that it was a collection of items that Trainers had left behind after performances that Hugh had picked up, but on a lower shelf there was a relatively large basket filled with Absorb Bulbs that seemed unlikely to have all been accidentally left behind. Curiously, there was a small safe on the shelf below this basket; who even knew about this place to try to steal things from him? He didn’t seem to have an issue with her looking at his things, though, because he headed straight for the closet on the other side of the bedroom with only a brief glance over his shoulder at Whitley.

He took his time in the closet, trying to find something to wear that could cover him appropriately without causing excruciating pain. Finally, he settled on a white long-sleeved Bohemian-style shirt and a pair of white silk gloves. It was a decidedly feminine ensemble, but he’d never known Whitley to be that picky about fashion, and she was here with him and – he poked his head back out of the closet to double check – not trying to run away to her viscount. So, it would suffice for tonight.

He turned back towards the front of the closet, facing the collection of masks he had pilfered from the costume department. They were laid out on the shelf beside the door, neatly arranged in rows like shoes on a shoe rack. He started to reach for a new one – to replace the one that Whitley had so brusquely ripped from his face – but he hesitated. Whitley didn’t want him to wear the mask anymore, and that’s why she had taken it off. She was trying to get used to his true appearance. Wait…that wasn’t right. _Mack_ had wanted to learn to look at it without flinching. It was her idea to take his bandages off in the first place, after they ran away…

Hugh shook his head, trying to forget the painful memories of his sister. He didn’t want to forget her entirely, but it hurt to remember her. He missed her so much sometimes that he could feel his chest physically ache. Whitley’s company helped to relieve that ache. But at the same time, he wanted _more_ from Whitley – he didn’t want her to be just a companion like his sister; he wanted her to _love_ him. Yet she reminded him of Mack so much that sometimes he subconsciously started to equate them. He wanted to keep them distinct in his mind, but it was difficult to make that distinction when Whitley acted so much like her.

Thoroughly irritated by his blurred feelings, Hugh gritted his teeth and stormed out of the closet. He headed for the bookshelves that Whitley was still so fascinated by. As she crouched down to better inspect his collection of toxic materials – some Black Sludge, Toxic Orbs and a Poison Barb among them – he snapped, “You’ll have plenty of time to play with trinkets later. Get changed. If I have to tell you again, I’ll do it myself.”

She snapped her head up to stare at him in horror, but his attention had shifted to the coils of modified Escape Rope on the top shelf that he needed to retrieve. He had things to set up tonight, and he vastly preferred that Whitley not be in the main room while he set them. When he glanced back at Whitley, she had straightened up – but she was still staring at him. “What?” he asked irritably.

In his frustration, he had unthinkingly reached up to grab the ropes with his free hand. That also happened to be his right one. He hadn’t put on his gloves yet. He followed Whitley’s gaze to his arm. The sleeve had slipped down, past his hand, to his elbow…exposing the raw, burned flesh that he had been trying so hard to hide.

It wasn’t a pleasant sight, to say the least. Red welts and inflamed skin stretched from the back of his hand and up his forearm, continuing underneath the cloak’s sleeve. The damaged skin on his wrist shone with pus; the skin on his underarm was relatively unharmed. He lowered his arm so that the sleeve would cover it up again, but the fabric caught on his wrist – and when Whitley saw only his hand, with the discolored scabs reaching from his knuckles to his sleeve, her eyes widened in recognition.

“The gardener,” she whispered.

Hugh froze with his hand grasping the sleeve, his shirt and gloves left to fall to the floor. “Indeed,” he finally choked out. Then, without another word, he grasped the coils of rope tighter and swept past Whitley, his right sleeve falling back to cover his hand. Whitley called out after him, and he paused at the curtain to repeat, “ _Get changed_.” Then he let it fall back into place, and the only sign that he had been there at all was the crumpled pile of white on the floor.

Whitley picked his shirt up and made for the curtain to follow him, but when she emerged into the main room it was completely empty. He must have gone behind one of the curtains, but which one? He had never invited her behind the black or purple curtains before, and the red curtain led–

The red curtain led up. To freedom.

Immediately, Whitley dashed over to the curtain that she had used to return on her previous trip to Hugh's home, dropping Hugh’s shirt on the piano bench on the way. It seemed far too simple to be true, but she wasn’t about to let that stop her from trying. As she approached it, she kept expecting Hugh to come out behind her, or Meloetta to appear in front of her – it was rather suspicious that she hadn’t appeared the whole night – but nothing came to stop her.  

She flung open the curtain, ready to sprint to freedom, and was greeted by a door. It was locked. Of course, of course it was locked. She threw back the curtain with a frustrated grunt, mostly directed at herself for thinking that she could escape that easily.

Sure, if she tried, she could probably figure out ways of getting past the door. But frankly, it was late, she was tired, and she didn’t have the energy to fight against Hugh right now. Plus, she was ready to change out of her stupid Joy costume herself. Her wig and half-apron were both coming loose, and her pink slip-ons were starting to make her feet ache. Or maybe that was just because she hadn’t sat down since the courtyard scene of _Don George_.

Whitley marched tiredly back into Hugh’s room, looking for the first time at the clothes laid out on the bed. There were two outfits. One was a plain white blouse with red-trimmed sleeves and a matching red and blue plaid skirt – with pockets! – and the other was a simple gray tee and soft, fuzzy gray pants patterned with white stars. After a moment, she realized that she wasn’t looking at a choice of outfits as much as she was looking at an outfit and a pair of pajamas.

After a few moments of deliberation, she decided to wear the pajamas – after all, sleeping sounded like a _really_ good option right now, and they were _really_ soft pajamas. If she was sleeping down here, she’d be sleeping with a bra on no matter what, so she might as well make sure the rest of her outfit was comfortable.

Whitley changed into the pajamas quickly and folded her costume and the outfit, placing them on the nearby dresser. Then she flopped down on the bed with a sigh, trying to make sense of everything she had witnessed that night.

It didn’t add up, really. He loved her, said he wanted her love in return. So, what was _this_ all about? Kidnapping her and then forcing her to play house with him wasn’t exactly endearing. In fact, it seemed almost childish. Yet, at the same time, it certainly wasn’t threatening. Perhaps that was why she didn’t feel any desperate, pressing need to escape.

At least one thing that did make sense was the revelation that the gardener she had met seven years ago to the day while picking flowers for her mother had been Hugh in disguise. In fact, the revelation itself wasn’t nearly as surprising as the fact that she hadn’t figured it out before. How did Hugh know about the Angel of Music? Because she had told him. Why did he start teaching her then? Because he had just met her that day. Why did he choose to teach her? Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that she accidentally saw the burns on his hand and didn’t look at them with anything more than a mild curiosity.

And now that she thought about it, she had an idea of why he was gathering flowers in the garden in the first place. _He_ was honoring the memory of a loved one who had passed away, too. In fact, doing a quick calculation in her head, her mother had died exactly ten years after Hugh’s sister…Mackenzie. Was that part of why he felt a connection to Whitley, too?

Of course, this deduction was barely a chink in the armor of mysteries that surrounded Hugh. For example, the relationship between him and White Lefévre continued to bewilder her. Ms. Lefévre had said before that she didn’t consider him a friend anymore, yet she knew him well enough to figure out where he was taking Whitley and tried to stop him there. Hugh obviously had no aversion to harming her – he was the one who broke her wrist on the night of the masquerade – and yet tonight he just threatened her and left.

Although, to be fair, Whitley’s relationship with Hugh wasn’t any less confusing. He practically proposed to her…then kidnapped her…then disappeared and left her alone. And she unmasked him publicly…then let him drag her down to his home…then fought with him for doing so…and now she was lying on his bed, in pajamas he had acquired for her, thinking.

Perhaps it was time for her to try _doing_ something.

However, just as she sat up on the bed, she heard Hugh’s voice. “Have you finished?” he asked stiffly.

“Um…yes?”

“Good.”

She scooted to sit on the corner of the bed closest to the curtain, leaning back on one hand as she waited for him to enter. A hand appeared at the curtain and lingered there for a few moments before pushing it aside. The hand’s owner stepped through.

And as Whitley stared at the hand’s owner, she couldn’t stop herself from falling off the bed. For while Hugh had put the shirt on, he also exposed far more than she expected to see.

Hugh didn’t see the point in hiding any of it anymore. His head was nothing that Mack hadn’t learned to tolerate, and Whitley had already seen his arm twice. He fully expected that she would be revolted by the sight – there was a lot of hideousness to take in.

She was already quite acquainted with the deathlike pallor and missing cartilage and fat of the left side of his face, as it had been from birth, but now she could see the lovely assortment of bruises that his mother had left on the right side of his face as well. Neither his chin nor his forehead had been spared her blows, though she never touched his deformity at all. In fact, he couldn’t remember anyone touching his face there, not even out of curiosity. Normally, her marks were completely hidden by the makeup that he carefully applied to that side of his face every morning. He could never apply enough layers to swallow up the swollen, stitched gash right in the middle of the cheek, though. Now, it was clearly on display, just like its twin injury always was – his bulbous, swollen lip.

Next, there was the matter of his hair, which was the least repulsive of his physical incongruities. His natural hair color was dark blue, just like his sister and his father, but unlike theirs, his hair was wispy and thin, and stuck up oddly in little spikes all over his head. He used to wear a hat at all times to cover it, but a few years into his tenure as the Phantom of the Musical he “borrowed” some hair gel from Blue and found that he could make his hair look almost normal if he slicked it back with copious amounts of the stuff.

Finally, there were the burns on his right arm, which he had accidentally shown Whitley already. However, he had rolled the sleeve of his shirt all the way up so that she could see how the burns traced all the way up from the tips of his knuckles to the top of his shoulder. He did have to admit that the fresh air on his arm felt so much better than even the loose white shirtsleeve.

Hugh stood there in the doorway, all his physical barriers stripped away, baring his distorted flesh to his whole world. He swept his good arm in front of him in an exaggerated mock bow and announced, “It is I, the monster.” But he remained in a bow, not wanting to see the look of horror and revulsion that he knew was undoubtedly crossing his beautiful, fallen angel’s face.

He stood there for a full minute without hearing any sound from Whitley, and he risked a quick glance at her – had he frightened her so much that she fainted from the shock? No…she was still on the floor, but she was sitting up now and observing him carefully. Her face betrayed no emotion, but she was an actress – and a good one, at that. She at least had the decency to appear unaffected by his grotesque features, even though they surely disgusted her.

However, Whitley wasn’t bothered by his true appearance anymore. While she’d thought after first seeing his face that she never wanted to see him onstage, she now thought that if he truly wanted to perform, they could make it work somehow. She was shocked more by how much of his true appearance he had been hiding from her than what his true appearance was. He had alluded to the scarring on his cheek, but to see it for herself made her heart wrench in sympathy. His hair was a total mess, but Whitley had always thought that messy hair looked better than perfect hair, because it looked authentic. Then, to see the full extent of the burning on his arm was a bit gruesome, but she could only imagine how much it must hurt…and to have to cover all that up, every single day…

But as she looked at his arm again, she was suddenly struck by an odd realization. When Whitley had met Hugh in that garden seven years ago, she had assumed that the accident which burned his arm had happened recently because the injury hadn’t scarred over yet. However, his arm now hardly looked any different from how she remembered it looking back then. “When…” she began, drawing Hugh’s attention back to her. “That is…how long ago…did…your arm…?”

She wasn’t sure how exactly to word the question, but he understood what she was trying to say. He didn’t feel right looking down on Whitley while explaining to her just how inhuman he was, so he sat down in front of her with a sigh and kept his gaze fixed on the floor as he answered, “My first mask…was a golden one, which I stole from a Pokémon called Yamask, thirteen years ago.” He gestured to his arm. “I did not escape the encounter unscathed.”

“Thirteen years…” Whitley stared at the inflamed skin again, which did not look like the product of a thirteen-year-old injury. “Then…why doesn’t it heal?”

He chuckled hollowly. “How many times have I asked myself that same question? I’ve never gotten a professional diagnosis, my dear. I have a few theories, mostly concerning the functionality of my fibroblasts, but I won’t bore you with those. Whatever the cause, the effect is that my wounds simply…fail to heal.”

“I…see.” Was that just his imagination, or did Whitley scoot a little closer to him while he was talking? “Does it hurt a lot?”

“Are you referring to the magnitude or frequency of the pain?” Hugh asked wryly. Her questions were wandering into territory that was dangerously close to pity, and he didn’t want to have to remind her how he felt about _that_.

Without waiting for an answer, he stood up and rolled down his right sleeve. “Now, I think that’s enough of this for tonight. We’ll get some sleep, and things will be better in the morning, my dear. Goodnight.”

He turned to leave the room. Whitley stood up after him, rage bubbling in her chest. What was up with him, baring his feelings and his past to her and then walking away with a cold indifference like nothing happened? “Hugh!” she shouted, but he ignored her. She followed him out of the room, continuing to call his name and continuing to receive no response. Finally, she tried a different strategy. “Erik!”

That provoked a response. He froze and shuddered visibly. Then, he turned back towards her with slow, deliberate movements. He took a deep breath in and exhaled slowly. Then, he met her gaze and Whitley shivered, feeling his piercing red eyes bore into hers. He suddenly began stalking towards her, and Whitley instinctively backed up until she felt the wall against her back. He thrust his scarred, deformed face towards hers so they were only a few inches apart.

“Erik is dead,” he said coldly. “ _Never_ use that name in my presence again.”

It took all of Whitley’s self-control to keep herself from letting out a little whimper. Seeing it at a distance was one thing, but she had never been this close to Hugh’s unmasked face before and was rather unnerved. To her relief, he pulled away and folded his left arm across his chest.

“Now, what did you need to tell me, my dear?” he asked quietly.

Whitley blinked at him for a few moments. She knew what she wanted to tell him, but she wasn’t sure now how to word it. “I’m just…confused,” she finally said. “And that’s frustrating me. I don’t understand what you’re doing.”

Hugh sighed. “That makes two of us,” he muttered.

“What was that?”

“Nothing important,” he said dismissively. He suddenly reached for Whitley’s hand, and she instinctively pulled it away from him. His arm fell back to his side. “It doesn’t matter if you don’t understand now,” he murmured. “We have plenty of time to figure it out. We have as much time as we need.”

Whitley couldn’t tell if he was talking to her or to himself.

Suddenly, a splash from the lake caught their attention. Hugh jerked around and held a hand warningly in front of Whitley as he scanned the surface of the lake in the direction of the splash. The ripples seemed to originate from their side of the lake, but the splash had been too quiet to be from an object falling down from the ceiling. Someone else must have–

Just as the thought occurred to Hugh, something slammed forcefully into the side of his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliffhanger, yay! :D I won't make you wait as long as you did for this chapter, I swear. I'll have the next chapter up by the end of next week.
> 
> **Up next: It's a secret ;)**


	20. Duel of Wit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to part one of the climax of Phantom of the Musical! Theoretically, I could have put these two parts combined into one gigantic chapter, but...well, you'll see soon enough why it worked better to separate them. For your reading pleasure, I'll be posting part two tomorrow, so keep an eye out for that!
> 
> Without further ado...let's see what that thing was that hit Hugh...

Hugh staggered back from the blow to his temple. It wasn’t quite forceful enough to knock him unconscious, but it did disorient him enough that he couldn’t tell where Whitley was relative to him anymore. He waved an arm in what he thought was her direction, and someone’s hand caught his wrist.

“Stay the _hell_ away from her, you two-faced sociopath,” a sickly familiar voice growled.

The world was starting to come back into focus, and Hugh recognized that the person holding his wrist was his rival. He had positioned himself between Hugh and Whitley. But Blake was still dripping with water from his swim across the lake, and Hugh was able to slip his wrist out from Blake’s grip easily.

Hugh took a couple of steps back and noted that the viscount was wearing a blue and black bodysuit that covered his arms up to his elbows and his legs to just above the ankle. Perhaps it was designed to allow for silent movement in water. But still, if the viscount had been the one to make that splash, how could he have emerged from the lake quietly and out of Hugh’s field of view so quickly?

In a flash of inspiration, Hugh whirled around and saw that Blake’s Dewott was sneaking up behind him. “Dewott, go!” Blake exclaimed.

Dewott leaped into the air, holding its scalchops high. Hugh swiftly pulled a small, round item out of his pocket and held it up to shield himself against Dewott’s attack. Whitley thought it was too small to provide any sort of protection and looked away, so she didn’t have to watch whatever harm Dewott was going to do to Hugh. An explosion flung water everywhere. However, when Whitley looked back at him, Hugh remained completely unharmed – and Dewott was suddenly nowhere to be found.

“My apologies, sir, but I only have room for one uninvited guest tonight,” Hugh said as he turned back around to face Blake and Whitley.

Blake gritted his teeth. “A clever trick,” he admitted. “But don’t think you can fool me with a simple sleight of hand.”

Whitley glanced nervously between the two men. “Wh-what happened? Where’s Dewott?”

“Dewott’s Razor Shell was completely absorbed by an Absorb Bulb,” Blake explained, “and normally the energy can then be absorbed by the Pokémon that holds it. But in this case, that energy couldn’t be absorbed…so it was just all released at once. And, while Dewott flinched from the explosion, our _clever friend_ wrapped an Escape Rope around its ankle, activating the rope and returning Dewott to the entrance of the Musical Theater.”

Hugh laughed. “Absolutely correct! Oh, I’m glad that if I have to have a rival, he’s not just some idiot boy who thinks he can play the hero. Unfortunately…” Hugh’s amused expression shifted into a glare. “Your astute powers of observation do not change the fact that you are trying to take Whitley away from me. That is an offense which I cannot forgive.”

With that, Hugh lobbed a Smoke Ball at the ground between them, quickly filling the area with purple smoke.

“Don’t breathe it in!” Blake commanded, gripping Whitley’s wrist tightly. He closed his eyes to help him focus on his other senses – namely, his hearing – that could help alert him to the monster’s movements. The Phantom could either try to attack him or take back Whitley, or both, and Blake didn’t want to be caught off guard.

Suddenly, he felt strong hand gripping the pressure point on his neck and a similar pressure on his back. Blake reacted instinctively, dropping to his knees and thrusting an elbow back into his attacker’s stomach. He heard a grunt from behind him – which was good – but he also heard a squeal from beside him – which was bad.

“Whitley!” he shouted, reaching out blindly in her direction. That was a mistake. He inhaled a lungful of the smoke and started coughing, and he couldn’t get enough fresh air to clear them. He could only hope that Whitley didn’t make the same mistake and call out for him.

When the smoke finally cleared enough that he could breathe, Blake noticed two important things had changed: one, the Phantom was nowhere in sight, and two, Whitley was sitting on the ground beside him with blood trickling down the back of her arm. However, she was looking at him with great concern.

“Blake, are you alright?” she asked. “You started coughing, but I didn’t know if it was the smoke or something else…”

“I’m just fine,” Blake said. “But don’t worry about me…are _you_ alright?”

Whitley nodded. “The cut barely stings now. It was just a little nick, really…it’s not nearly as bad as it looks.”

“That’s good to hear,” Blake replied. He glanced around again; he hadn’t heard anything that indicated his rival might still be around, but he had been completely taken off-guard by how stealthily he moved under the smokescreen. In a lowered voice, he continued, “What about before I got here? Did he try to…” He trailed off and simply looked pointedly at Whitley’s pajamas.

Whitley flushed. “No, nothing like that. He just wanted me to change out of my costume. And when he came in, he made sure I was clothed first… He got angry at me a couple of times, but he never really hurt me.”

“Until now,” Blake said darkly.

“That was your own damn fault, Viscount,” Hugh’s voice snarled.

Whitley jumped, and Blake put a hand on hers to calm her as he tried to figure out where the Phantom’s voice was coming from. Unfortunately, it was loud enough that it echoed around the hall, preventing Blake from discerning its origin.

“What are you talking about, Phantom?” he finally asked.

“Your lovely gift to my gut had the unfortunate side effect of jolting my limbs outward, causing the Razor Claw I was holding in my hand to graze Whitley’s arm.”

“Why were you holding a Razor Claw?” Blake asked, but almost immediately held up a hand. “No, I can answer that. You were trying to cut me through my suit, right? Were you surprised when you realized you couldn’t?” He smirked. “This protective suit has taken a Techno Blast at close range. Your little Razor Claw can’t even scratch it.”

Whitley stared at Blake in awe. How in the world had he managed to acquire a protective suit like that? She knew he was rich, being an aristocrat and all, but she couldn’t imagine how much that kind of technology must have cost.

“You continue to surprise me, Viscount…consider me impressed,” the disembodied voice said. If voices could smirk, his voice was doing it. “So impressed, in fact, that I’m giving you a rare opportunity.”

A bright flash of light suddenly illuminated the room, temporarily blinding Blake and Whitley. When it faded, there were three ropes hanging from a beam across the ceiling in front of them. Blake peered up into the darkness above the beam, but there was no splotch of white to give away the Phantom’s position. “What is this?” he demanded.

“I am an inventor, among many things,” Hugh explained. “What you see in front of you are three Escape Ropes modified by my own design. One of them will take you to an exit of my secret passages, and the other two will not. You won’t be able to pick more than one, naturally. If you pick the right one…you’ll both go free, and I’ll never bother you again.”

“No,” Blake said immediately. “This is a trap. These probably aren’t even Escape Ropes at all. Come on, Whitley – let’s get out of here. We can swim across the lake.”

Blake grabbed Whitley’s hand and started to pull her past the ropes, towards the underground lake. “W-what? No, I…” Whitley protested weakly.

“That is most unwise, Viscount,” Hugh warned.

“Ignore him,” Blake told Whitley, who was dragging her feet behind him. Whitley shook her head, but he didn’t see it.

“You are needlessly endangering her life.”

“I swam across it just fine the first time; we can do it again,” Blake snapped.

“No, Blake… I can’t…”

“Enlighten me, Viscount – who else do you expect to be doing the swimming?”

Blake stopped and frowned. “What are you suggesting?”

“Blake, he’s suggesting what I’ve been trying to tell you,” Whitley said, an embarrassed flush coloring her cheeks. “I don’t know how to swim.”

Blake’s eyes widened, then softened. “Well, that’s fine. I can teach you–”

“A dimly lit underground lake isn’t exactly the ideal place for one’s first impromptu swimming lesson. Especially as I can’t guarantee that the waters are free of obstructions now,” Hugh informed them.

Blake gritted his teeth and took a step back. So, both of their escape options were potentially life-threatening, and he had no idea what the exact dangers were so he could respond to them. All the equipment he could carry on his person was hidden in his clothing on the opposite bank, aside from the piece on his ankle, and that was no good if he didn’t know where the criminal was. His only other option was to search through everything in the lair and see what he could find, but he sincerely doubted the Phantom would just sit back and let them devise a method of escape. What could they do?

“Blake,” Whitley said quietly, “I think our safest option is to try the ropes. And I know a way to determine whether they’re dangerous or not.”

She took Blake’s hand and led him back over to where the ropes were hanging down. She lifted up her chin and said, “Hugh. We’re going to take our chances with the ropes.”

“A wise decision, my dear,” Hugh purred. “As you can see, I’ve taken the liberty of looping the end of the rope for you. All you have to do is slip the loop over your ankle and tighten it, Viscount.”

“There’s one thing, though,” Whitley continued. “ _I’m_ going to be the one to put the rope around my ankle. Because I know that if it really is dangerous, you’re not going to let me do it.”

An eerie laugh echoed through the hall.

“Oh, you know me too well, my dear! Here, I’ll even let each of you pick a rope. That’ll double your chances, don’t you think?”

Blake and Whitley exchanged glances. “Alright,” Blake said. “Whitley, you pick first.”

Whitley nodded and stepped up to the center rope.

“Oh, I wouldn’t pick that one if I were you, my dear.”

“Which one would you pick, then?” Whitley asked boldly, but there was no reply.

With a sigh, she moved to the rope on the left. Hugh still made no comment as Whitley slipped the loop over her ankle, but Blake moved to hold her wrist so that if the rope did take her somewhere, he would go with her. She hesitated for a moment, holding the rope in her fingers, and finally tightened the loop. She felt a little prickling feeling on her skin, like there were stickerburrs on the inside of the rope, and she braced herself for teleportation…

But nothing happened.

“Nice try, my dear, but that rope isn’t taking you anywhere,” Hugh said. “One more chance.”

The rest of the rope suddenly fell from the beam in two pieces, and Blake quickly looked up. He saw part of a dark shadow for a moment, but that didn’t make sense – the Phantom was wearing a white shirt and blue pants when he last saw him. But, there had to be something up there…

Seized with inspiration, Blake strode confidently over to the far-right rope and bent over, fiddling with the rope and his ankle. He deliberately leaned over it so that what he was doing couldn’t be seen from above. Whitley crouched down to put a hand on his shoulder. He suddenly leaped to his feet and tossed a gleaming silver object into the air, which flew up towards the beam above – and a pale hand shot out of a dark cloak to snatch it.

“Adjustable handcuffs?” He sounded amused. “Why is a viscount like you playing with these?”

Blake yanked down on the handcuff he was holding, attempting to pull the Phantom off the beam. Instead, only part of the extendable cord connecting the two cuffs together fell back down, leaving him with one cuff and his adversary with the other.

“Did you think I hadn’t noticed them on your ankle earlier?” Hugh added. “They’re useless now, though.” He tossed the cuff casually over the side of the beam, but the fact that it would have hit Blake on the head if he hadn’t moved suggested it wasn’t as casual of a toss as he made it appear. “So, are you going to pick another rope or not?”

Blake scowled and reached for the rope again, slipping it over his ankle. He looked up at Whitley, who gave him a tired smile. Behind her, the third rope fell to the ground. Blake took a deep breath and tightened the loop.

Once again, nothing happened.

“Oh,  _finally_ ,” Hugh sighed. “I was beginning to think you’d never put it on.”

Then, in one graceful motion, the Phantom picked up the excess length of rope and fell off the beam.

Whitley cried out in concern, but Hugh wasn’t the one she needed to be concerned about – he managed to twist himself in midair to land on his feet and roll forward to reduce the shock, a maneuver perfected after years of living among trees. Blake, on the other hand, had his left ankle violently jerked out from underneath him as the rope that was still wrapped around his ankle was pulled up and over the beam by Hugh. The back of Blake’s head slammed into the ground right before his whole body was lifted up by the rope.

When all was said and done, Blake was hanging a few feet above the ground by his left ankle, with a rapidly swelling bump on the back of his head and a small trickle of blood running down his left leg. Hugh was tying the rope around something against the wall that looked like part of an ornate gold picture frame, and Whitley could only stare between them in growing horror as her mind processed what had just happened.

Hugh replaced the large mirror in its frame and locked it, satisfied that the rope wouldn’t be able to slip out from between the mirror and the frame. Then he turned around and saw that Blake was attempting to free his ankle from the rope. “Oh, go ahead,” he snarled. “Slide that rope off and drag the barbs through your flesh. Then give yourself a concussion when you hit the ground, if you don’t have one already. Face it, nothing can save you now – except, perhaps, Whitley…”

Whitley shrank back a little as Hugh strode purposefully towards her. His eyes were glinting with an emotion that she couldn’t name; it was like five different emotions were warring in his mind, and he was acting purely to find a resolution to their conflict. “You wanted a choice, my dear Whitley,” he whispered fervently. “This is the choice: start a new life with me, or watch the viscount slowly lose his.”

“You said you would never take another person’s life!” Whitley cried. There was a fierce determination in her gaze as she added, “If you kill him, I’ll hate you for eternity!”

“I’ll free him before he dies,” he replied coldly, turning away from Whitley. “But while he’s here, I intend to make his life a living hell.”

Blake had his arms folded over his chest as he watched Hugh and Whitley interact. Taking short breaths and speaking quickly, he said, “Don’t, Whitley…don’t throw your life away for my sake…”

“Shut your mouth,” Hugh hissed, walking towards him.

“Either way you choose, he has to win…”

“I don’t understand, Hugh. Why do you curse mercy?” Whitley exclaimed, grabbing hold of his cloak.

Instinctively, he whirled around and grabbed her hand. “It’s too late for turning back, Whitley!”

He shoved Whitley away from him and turned back around. By this point, he was standing right in front of Blake. Before the hanging man could react, Hugh drew back his arm and slammed his fist into Blake’s perfect face. The action felt a little awkward but immensely satisfying, like scoring a direct hit on a piñata. The viscount cried out in pain, drowning out the knock of bone on bone.

The impact started Blake swinging, making him slightly nauseous. He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead; this was doing nothing to help his dizziness, and his vision was starting to blur. He felt blood under his fingertips, which he traced back to his injured nose – it was bleeding heavily.

The Phantom grabbed Blake’s free arm, which stopped the swinging, and Blake braced himself for a fresh wave of pain.

Then, suddenly, Whitley was there, gripping Hugh’s good arm to prevent him from throwing another punch. “No more of this, Hugh,” she said firmly.

He slowly released Blake’s arm, but then whirled around so abruptly that Whitley jumped back a little in surprise. His breathing was harsh and ragged as he said, agonizingly slowly, “You’re trying my patience.” A pause. “Make your choice.”

Whitley watched him as he staggered past her, shedding his cloak so she could see his damaged skin – a reminder of who he was, of the difficulties he faced. She would have to learn to deal with that if she spent the rest of her days with him. She didn’t love him – at least, not in the sense that she’d want to _marry_ him or something – but she didn’t hate him, either. No, what she felt for him was some mixture of pity, fear, and…compassion.

From what she understood, he had suffered almost his whole life because of his face. It was tragic, really, that the rest of the world had never been able to see past his face to his many talents and only taught him cruelty. Yet, when it was just the two of them, he was never cruel to her. So perhaps, if she showed him kindness, he could learn to reciprocate it to others. He didn’t have to face the world alone.

And if it meant she could save Blake’s life in the process, well, that made it so much sweeter.

Strengthened by her new resolve, Whitley strode over to Hugh. He was leaning over his desk, palms flat on the edge of its surface. When Whitley put a gentle hand on his shoulder, he turned around to face her and she saw the utter despair in his eyes. Was he really so certain that she wouldn’t choose him? If he was, then words wouldn’t be enough. She would have to show him what choice she made…

These were the thoughts going through Whitley’s mind as she pressed her lips to his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, I'm really proud of this chapter. I'm terrible at writing action scenes, but I wanted this showdown between Blake and Hugh to be compelling - and not just a singing/shouting match like it basically is in the musical. And I don't know about you, but I think that I did a pretty good job of that. This is also the first chapter that I never got beta'd, so I really hope it accomplishes what I wanted it to.
> 
> (Also, you have _no_ idea how long I was waiting to write that scene where Hugh punches Blake in the face. It's so satisfying.)
> 
> This chapter is also the first in a while to borrow lines from the musical, with a bit of Hugh, Blake, and Whitley's dialogue at the end - while Blake is hanging upside down from the rope - being taken from the "Final Lair" sequence.
> 
> **Up next: Whitley's made her choice, but how will Hugh react?**


	21. Release

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is...the second part of the climax!

_I hear him sobbing through the door. It tears at my heart – the defeated cries of a broken man. He may want me to walk away without looking back, but I can’t. I can’t forget everything he’s done for me, for better and for worse, just like that. Even if I bore no physical reminders of this night, I know I will never be able to forget what happened. He loves me…and I do not need to carry anything with me to remember that. So, I turn around._

* * *

Hugh pulled away from Whitley, trembling slightly. The kiss had lasted for only a few seconds, but to him it felt like millennia. She, Whitley Daaé, his angel, his love, had kissed _him_ , Hugh, the monster. Her soft lips had touched his own, and he could do nothing but stand there, staring at her, overwhelmed by gratitude and love. Her beautiful gray eyes were clear and confident as they met his; gone was the fear and confusion that had been clouding them the rest of the night. She had _chosen_ to kiss him, and though he did not understand why, he didn’t dare to ask for fear of ruining this heavenly mirage.

Then, Whitley embraced Hugh tightly, laying her cheek against his chest. For a moment, she thought he had stopped breathing – but then, he slowly released a long, shuddering breath and resumed breathing at regular intervals, though it was still ragged like she had noticed before. He hadn’t moved to return her embrace, though he did hesitantly take a few loose strands of her hair and let them slide through his fingers.

It was then that Hugh was finally certain that this was no mirage, no illusion, no hallucination – he could feel Whitley’s arms around him and touch her smooth brown locks. Which meant that he hadn’t just imagined it when Whitley put her hands on his cheeks when they kissed. She really had touched them – both of them! His left cheek, only muscle and bone; his right cheek, marred by scars and bruises. She had placed her hands on his cheeks and they had not been bruised; the skin had not been torn. His breath caught again at the realization.

His mother was wrong.

Whitley pulled away from him when she heard his quiet gasp. She was startled to see the immense sorrow that glittered within his eyes, and she knew at once that something was wrong. She had chosen to stay with him; why would that make him so sad? Was her wordless gesture not clear? “I choose to stay,” she said. “I choose to stay with you.”

Hugh’s mind was spinning. It was hard for him to form a coherent thought, and he couldn’t comprehend Whitley’s words. All he knew was what he felt, and he felt so full of love for Whitley that he thought he might die from it. He finally understood… _this_ was the “more” he wanted from her. This was the difference between her and Mackenzie. She had so many people that she could choose to care about, and she chose to care about him. That made him happy beyond belief, but…what about _her_?

His limbs felt numb, but he forced himself to move them anyways – past the frowning Whitley, past the barely moving Viscount, over to the mirror on the wall. His brain was still foggy, but he was still able to fiddle with the rope until it started to slip out from between the mirror and its frame.

Blake started to fall, but Whitley had figured out what Hugh was doing and moved under him to catch him. However, a few seconds later Blake suddenly vanished, and Whitley gasped.

“It’s…like I said, a modified Escape Rope,” Hugh explained softly, staring at the ground. “It’s full of barbs that emerge only when you apply enough pressure to the rope. Since they keep the rope from direct contact with the leg, it only works as normal when the barbs are retracted manually…”

“Oh,” Whitley said. She too stared awkwardly at the ground for a few moments. When she looked up again, she realized that Hugh had moved and was now kneeling on the ground behind her. “Um…I, uh…thank you. For letting him go. But I think I’m gonna go to bed now. Goodnight…”

He murmured something that she couldn’t understand as Whitley headed back to the room. She noticed when she passed him that he was holding the wrinkled piece of paper that he had been looking at after he told her about his sister. Then she heard paper crumpling. “No,” he repeated, louder, but still with little conviction.

Whitley paused at the blue curtain and looked back at him, cocking her head slightly. The paper he had been holding was now sitting in a crumpled ball on the floor, and he was staring at it like it was a Magic 8-Ball that just answered his question the way he didn’t want it to be answered. He buried his face in his hands and shook his head repeatedly. Finally, he struggled to his feet, kicking the crumpled paper away from him in the process.

He wanted happiness, but not from her. He knew that for certain now. She could give him happiness, but he would only take away hers. And he…he was wrong when he told White all those months ago that he didn’t care if he hurt Whitley in his quest for happiness. He couldn’t be happy if Whitley was miserable. There was only one action, then, that he could take now.

The paper stopped at Whitley’s feet. She picked it up and started to unfurl it – what was on this paper that made it so important to him before, but now he didn’t care about it at all? But Hugh’s next words made her freeze and focus her attention on him.

“Go,” he rasped, removing a key from his pocket and placing it securely in her palm. “Take the stairs. Forget me…forget all of this.”

Whitley gaped at him. He had gone through all that to get her to stay down here with him, and just when she had finally accepted her fate…he was going to _let her go?_ She thought for a moment he was trying to be sarcastic, but his tone and actions didn’t match that analysis of the situation. And the sorrow in his eyes…suddenly, the sorrow in his eyes made sense. He was sorrowful because he had to let her go.

“Go,” he whispered brokenly. “Go find your boy and leave me.”

Whitley nodded slowly and walked towards the red curtain. She pushed it aside and tried the key in the door, finding that it did indeed fit in the lock; this wasn’t just a particularly cruel joke that Hugh was playing on her. He really was letting her go.

She glanced back over her shoulder at him. He had slumped back to the ground near the piano, but when he caught her looking back over her shoulder he shouted with sudden ferocity “ _GO!”_ which made Whitley jump and hurry through the door.

Once the door had shut behind her, Hugh slumped completely to the ground and allowed himself to sob. It was better this way – he knew it was – but that didn’t stop it from hurting so, so much. After some time, though – he couldn’t tell if it had been a few minutes or a few hours – he had nothing left to cry.

As he lay there, breathing heavily, the thought crossed his mind that he had no idea where Meloetta had ended up. She had promised to attend the premiere of _Don George Triumphant_ to make sure that he was not harmed during the performance – _a fine job she did of that_ , he thought bitterly – but he had not seen her since. Now, he was just glad that she wasn’t there to witness the pathetic creature he had become.

Hugh managed to pull himself to a sitting position, determined to appear to have kept at least some of his dignity if Meloetta suddenly decided to return. He leaned back against the piano bench and heaved a sigh. He couldn’t force himself to get up on the bench, let alone play the instrument; this was the best that he could do.

Beside him, he realized, was the Pansage music box that he had stolen from one of White’s offices years ago. It had been a prototype for a new piece of merchandise for the Pokémon Musical, but White had had reservations about mass-producing it. Really, he had done her a favor by making the music box mysteriously disappear. He had placed it by Whitley’s bed when she spent the night with him all those months ago, but Meloetta must have moved it since…or perhaps he did. He couldn’t remember now.

He idly stroked the Pansage’s head and it began to play quietly. The song that the music box played was what had interested him enough to steal it. The music box only played an instrumental version of the song, but he liked the words.

“Masquerade,” he sang softly. “Paper faces on parade…masquerade.” He sounded rather terrible, but his heart just wasn’t in it. “Hide your face, so the world will never find you.”

As the music box’s song slowed to a stop, Hugh’s gaze shifted up from the tile in front of him to the lake. Yes, even though he had let her go, his heart was still with that beautiful young soprano. In his mind, he could see her coming across the lake, returning to him. He imagined her running up to him as he stood up and welcomed her back with open arms, just like he had greeted Mack when she returned from her work every day. No – he had to stop thinking like that. Whitley was not Mackenzie – Whitley was so much better than Mackenzie, meaning that he deserved her so much less. It was for her own good that Whitley would not return.

But as he shook his head to clear the stupid illusion from his mind, he realized that _someone_ was approaching him from the side. He turned his head and blinked disbelievingly. Slowly, he got to his feet, certain that she was just a realistic figment of his imagination. But yet, as she reached out a hand to him, and he reached out a hand to touch hers, he felt her – soft, warm, and definitely real. The angel had chosen to return.

However, he knew from the instant that he met her eyes that she was not there to stay. They brimmed with tears; this was painful for her. She didn’t want to be in pain forever, and he didn’t want that for her either. She could do so much more with her life than stay with him, so much that would bring her happiness. If she could find happiness and be free of this pain, even if it meant spending the rest of her life with the viscount, that would at least bring him peace.

There was only one way that Hugh could think of to express his thoughts to her. Bringing both of his hands, injured and uninjured, to clasp hers, he whispered, “Whitley, I love you.”

She gave him a barely perceptible nod, unable to say anything in response. As he slowly released her hands, she pressed something into his left hand and, without a word, she ran back to the staircase.

Hugh sank to the ground again as he watched her go. Then, he slowly opened his hand. There, sitting in the middle of his palm, reflecting the unnatural light, was a plain gold ring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...ow...this one hurts my heart...
> 
> ...still, stay tuned for more! We may have hit the end of the musical, but we haven't hit the end of this story! There are still plenty more loose ends to wrap up - and a little more adventure and romance to be had.
> 
> **Up next: Whitley returns, much to the surprise of the rest of the Theater...**


	22. Return

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ........hi.
> 
> So it's been a while, huh? Sorry about that. I could give you the usual excuses, life is hard, yadda yadda yadda, but you know that already. The reason this chapter was delayed so long, though, really had a lot to do with the fact that I've just been really creatively drained the past couple months. And for some reason, being "creatively drained" means that writing takes even more effort than usual, but drawing is suddenly more appealing. Go figure. But basically, my lack of motivation to write meant that I also couldn't edit, which is why this story was delayed so long.
> 
> Anyways, as it stands now, I've finished my final revisions to the rest of the story, so it should be smooth sailing from here on out. We've only got nine more chapters to go, so I've decided to try to stick to a Monday/Friday update schedule so I can finish posting this story by the end of February. If I miss a day, it's probably not because I was busy; it's probably just because I forgot. So feel free to go yell at me on Tumblr or something if I miss an update. So, keep an eye out for another chapter coming out tomorrow!
> 
> Oh, and one last thing - I added another chapter to TMA during that little hiatus, if you haven't seen it already. It's not really necessary to the plot or anything, but it's an interesting look at Meloetta's character. Check it out if you've got the time!

Her mission complete – a mission that was far more painful than she had thought it would be – Whitley took a few deep breaths at the bottom of the staircase, simultaneously relieved and unnerved by the silence on the other side of the door. But she had to stop thinking about that now – it was time for her to leave this place and find Blake. She trudged up the staircase with determination, forcing her tumultuous emotions to calm down.

After she emerged from the trap door at the end of the corridor, Whitley started to turn right like Hugh had taken her before. But then she remembered that he had been trying to take her through her old bedroom’s mirror that time, and she didn’t have Meloetta with her now to teleport the mirror out of its frame. In the end he had taken her back through the BW Agency’s office, but how did she get there from here? He had taken her to a couple other places before that, and she hadn’t been paying _that_ much attention to the route they took…

She groaned and dug the heels of her palms into her eyes. Hugh had already let her go twice now; she didn’t want to toy with his emotions by returning yet again, only to ask him to show her how to leave. Or worse – he might be tempted not to let her leave this time. No, she couldn’t go back. But how could she get out of these passages without him?

She could try wandering around and calling out until someone heard her, but it was late by now and for all she knew, everyone had already gone home. And even if someone did hear her, how would they know how to get into the passages? No one else seemed to be aware of their existence besides Blake and Ms. Lefévre. Blake, wherever he had ended up, wouldn’t be in any condition to help her out of the passages, and Ms. Lefévre wouldn’t be anywhere nearby after the way Hugh had threatened her. That meant her only option was to wander through the passages and hope to find an exit.

Several minutes and a few staircases later, Whitley found herself a corridor lit by faint slices of light filtering through one wall at evenly spaced intervals. A renewed surge of energy flowed through her when she realized it was the curved corridor that led around the top of the auditorium. Hugh had brought her here and shown her the view from up here – to impress her, she assumed – but he had also been looking for a different place for her to go back. That meant at the end of this corridor there would be…

Whitley flung the swinging door open enthusiastically and started to rush through it. Fortunately, she stopped herself just in time to realize that the doorway was set into the wall a few feet above the solid wooden platform on the edge of the rafters. She carefully eased herself down onto the platform and risked a glance over the edge, down to the stage. The height was dizzying, and Whitley took a cautious step back without even thinking.

The stage was still set for the courtyard scene that she had interrupted, which was quite odd. The stage would need to be cleared for tomorrow morning’s rehearsal, which was normally done before everyone left for the night. The managers couldn’t have decided to send everyone home and close the theater temporarily; in the ten months since Firmin and André were hired, they had gained a reputation for _never_ closing the theater. Even when there was a big snowstorm back in February that snowed in half the cast and crew, they still didn’t cancel the performance…which resulted in a lot of complaints from people who had bought tickets but couldn’t make it to the Theater.

Ms. Lefévre and Mr. Ruby were sitting on the stage together; Ms. Lefévre was staring at the ceiling, and Mr. Ruby was staring at Ms. Lefévre. Whitley couldn’t tell why they were there at a glance, and the long drop was starting to make her feel faint. She headed over to the steep metal staircase that went down to the stage and started down.

Whitley was trying to keep her footsteps silent, but she wasn’t as adept at it as Hugh. Halfway through her descent, the Theater’s owner had heard the shuffle of bare feet on metal and shot to her feet. Everyone aside from the handful helping in the clinic should have gone home already, so there were only two people that could possibly be coming down from the rafters.

However, to her dismay, the person making her way down the staircase was _not_ the one that made sense – the one that she did want to see. “Whitley!” she called, fighting to keep the tremor out of her voice. “Where is Hugh?”

The young soprano stopped and looked from her to her companion, blinking. “Um, I don’t know if it’s my place to say,” she said.

“Oh, for crying out loud, Ruby already knows all about Hugh,” White snapped, exasperated. “And if you’re afraid he’s going to hurt you, I’ll take care of him. Just spit it out already!”

Whitley flinched, and Ruby put a hand on White’s shoulder. “White, don’t be so harsh on her. She’s had a rough night too, you know.”

White sighed and rubbed her temples. “Thanks, Ruby. You’re right.” To Whitley she said, “I’m sorry. Please, tell us where Hugh is now.”

“He’s down in his home,” Whitley replied.

White paused, trying to think of a tactful way to inquire after her biggest fear. In the meantime, Whitley continued her descent. Finally, White asked, “Is he…alive?”

“I…yes, he is.”

“Then…why are you here? I thought…”

White trailed off, watching Whitley approach the bottom of the staircase. She held one arm across her stomach and held the handrail with the other. Her lips were turned down into the barest frown, and her gaze had settled on a point on the floor.

“He loves me,” she said softly. “He let me go.”

“Oh,” was all White or Ruby could say. This night had certainly taken several interesting turns, and they still weren’t sure what to make of all of them.

After a few moments of silence, Whitley asked, “Why hasn’t the stage been cleared?”

“The Theater’s closed until further notice,” White explained.

Whitley’s eyes widened. “The managers actually closed the Theater?”

“The managers didn’t have a choice,” Ruby chuckled. “When White and I found them onstage trying to put the set away – which they had _no_ idea how to do, by the way – she went on this big rant about how they shouldn’t have authorized the police to come to the performance without her permission and ordered them to _‘go home while you still have a home to go to!’_ They left pretty quickly after that.”

“Not quickly enough,” White muttered. “I _really_ need to start asserting myself around them more often. Their insubordination is ridiculous – it’s like they forget I even exist!”

“Um, Ms. Lefevre,” Whitley said, trying to interrupt her bosses’ boss as politely as possible, “have either of you seen Blake anywhere?”

Ruby nodded. “He’s sleeping in the clinic right now.”

“Moon says he should be fine by tomorrow,” White added.

Whitley perked up a bit at this news, and White felt a twinge of guilt in her belly about getting the girl’s hopes up with a half-truth. He was _mostly_ fine, but Moon was concerned about his ankle – it was unnaturally swollen, and it would not be healed in a day. She also thought his nose might be broken and he might have a concussion, but she couldn’t tell for certain while he was unconscious. White didn’t think she wanted to know what had happened to him to put him in such a state.

 She had been tidying up Iris’s office to distract herself from the sense of foreboding she felt about leading Blake to Hugh’s lair and then leaving him there when suddenly, Blake himself had appeared in front of the locked door. His nose was bleeding heavily, and he was pressing a hand to his temple. He had wobbled there for a second before his legs gave out and he fell to the floor.

White had put Blake on the black of Darlene, her Sawsbuck, to bring him to Moon. While they walked, White attempted to get any sort of explanation out of him, but all he said was, “He is forcing her to stay with him. Forever.”

Obviously, either Blake had misunderstood the situation, or Hugh had changed his mind – perhaps he’d realized that he cared if he hurt Whitley in his quest for real happiness. After all, Whitley was standing in front of her, perfectly healthy. Although, she was wearing pajamas now.

White chose not to think about the possible implications of that, instead saying, “You look like you’re ready to go to bed. Iris has already left, but Ruby or I can walk you to her apartment if it makes you feel more comfortable.”

“No,” Whitley said, shaking her head. “I need to see Blake before I can sleep.”

“I don’t think that’s wise,” White said warily.

“That’s nice,” Whitley replied curtly. “Unless a doctor forbids me from visiting him, I will visit him whenever I like. Such as right now.”

With that, Whitley strode away, leaving a stunned Ms. Lefévre and Mr. Ruby in her wake.

After a moment, White groaned and said to Ruby, “Come on, we have to follow her.” It had been a long night for both of them, and White just wanted to go home and sleep. But if Whitley insisted on seeing Blake, then her intervention would probably be needed.

Sure enough, as they approached the clinic, they saw Whitley arguing with a woman with long lavender hair impeccably dressed in a black tuxedo. “Look, ma’am, these past few hours have been extremely taxing for me, and I’m really not in the mood for an argument with anyone right now,” Whitley was saying, thinly veiled irritation in her voice. “Now, if you would please step aside, I’d like to see my–”

“Hey now, what seems to be the problem here?” White interrupted hastily. She was panting a little from sprinting the rest of the distance to the clinic, but she had made it just in time – before Whitley inadvertently said something that would make their situation worse.

“This woman will not let me inside to see Blake,” Whitley said.

“This young lady insists on visiting a sleeping, injured young man,” the woman retorted.

White sighed. “Pardon my presumptuousness, but it’s a physician’s place to assess whether a patient is up to receiving visitors…” There was a pause where one might normally put a name or title, but the woman did not offer one. White continued, “Since the patient in question was injured attempting to protect this young woman, I do believe she has the right to come in and see him.”

The woman looked at Whitley again and raised an eyebrow in surprise. “You are…Miss Daaé? The soprano who was… _involved_ …with the Phantom?”

Whitley cringed inwardly at the woman’s word choice, but she only replied, “Yes, ma’am.”

The woman’s purple eyes glittered. “If I may have a few moments of your time, there are a few things I’d like to discuss with you,” she said.

Before Whitley could respond, the door to the clinic flew open and Whitley was tackle-hugged by a yellow-and-white blur that came from within. “Whitley! I knew I heard your voice out here! Oh, I’m so glad you’re okay!”

Caught off-guard at first, Whitley finally returned her friend’s hug. “It’s good to see you too, Yuki,” she said. “But what are you doing here?”

Yuki beckoned her friend inside the clinic and closed the door behind her. Sun and Moon were fiddling with something on the back counter and didn’t notice the new visitor come in. There were two cots in the clinic, both of which were occupied now.

Yuki gestured to the cot on the left side of the room, where Leo Piangi was sleeping. “Moon suspects he has a concussion; he’s got a pretty nasty bump on the back of his head,” Yuki whispered, stroking her boyfriend’s hair. “He’ll need to take it easy for a few days, but it’s nothing life-threatening, thank goodness.”

“Whoa, Whitley! Good to see you’re okay!”

Whitley turned around and saw that Sun and Moon had finished what they were doing – sterilizing some thermometers, it looked like – and Sun had spotted her. Moon glanced up from the sink where she was washing her hands, her eyes widening in recognition.

“You want Moon to take a look at your arm, though?” Sun asked.

“My arm?” Whitley glanced down at it reflexively, but she didn’t see what Sun was talking about. Then he gestured to her upper arm, and she remembered the cut on the back of it that Hugh had given her. Once the blood had clotted, the stinging had stopped, and Whitley had forgotten that the cut was even there. “Oh…right. Yes, that would be nice.”

Moon nodded as she dried her hands. “Have a seat, then,” she said, gesturing towards the two visitor’s chairs along the wall. “Thank you for your help, Sun.”

He beamed at her and took a seat himself, yawning. Yuki excused herself to go home, saying goodbye to Whitley as she left. Whitley picked up the remaining chair and dragged it to Blake’s bedside. Moon’s hands gently began to clean the blood off of Whitley’s arm, but Whitley focused her attention on the sleeping man in front of her.

His hair was a glorious brown mess as always, and his face was scrubbed free of blood to reveal his handsome, scar-free countenance. However, his nose had been padded with gauze and a splint, and his breathing was ragged. The rest of his form was shielded by a thin cotton sheet.

Whitley tried to focus on the rise and fall of his chest under the sheet while Moon checked his breathing – _in…out…in…out…_ Hugh had been breathing shakily like that too. She shook her head and turned her attention elsewhere in the clinic – like Leo, sleeping on the other cot. She felt guilty for forgetting to worry about his fate with everything else that happened, especially considering that she was the only one who knew that Hugh was going to target him. She frowned and glanced over at Sun. The young tenor was starting to nod off in his chair. He was still wearing his costume, a brown suit and yellow tie. Whitley was glad that Hugh had let her take off her costume.

Whitley sighed. It felt wrong to think about Hugh while she was sitting at Blake’s bedside. And yet, here she was, and everything seemed to remind her of him. The note sitting in her pocket weighed heavily on her mind now. Should she look at it? No one else in the room wanted to engage her in conversation, so it wasn’t likely that one of them would accidentally read it over her shoulder. Still…

“Are you squeamish?” Moon’s question jolted Whitley’s attention back to the clinic. “If you are, I’ll request that you look away now. I’m about to check his ankle.”

“His ankle?” Whitley echoed. “What’s wrong with it?”

Moon raised an eyebrow at her and pulled the sheet off of Blake’s ankles in response. Whitley stifled a gasp. His ankle, where Hugh’s Escape Rope had caught it, was swollen so much that it was even wider than his foot. She could also see the evenly spaced marks where the barbs had dug into his skin, which had stopped bleeding but were still oozing with pus. The skin also had a faint yellow tinge to it. “What happened?” she asked faintly.

“That’s what I should be asking you,” Moon said. “How exactly did he get this injury?”

“A…a rope,” Whitley murmured, remembering. “With barbs in it.”

“Sounds like Poison Barbs to me,” Moon said grimly, examining the injury closely. “I suspected he had been poisoned somehow, but I can’t do anything to help him if I don’t know the kind of poison used.”

“P-poison?” Whitley’s voice was a bit more high-pitched than she intended.

“Don’t worry. This kind of poison is very similar to the kind my Mareanie produces, if not the same. I know exactly how to treat it.” An eager gleam had appeared in Moon’s eye, and Whitley found herself shying away from the girl’s determined stare. “I am something of an expert on Poison-types, you see. I make medicine to heal poison…and I can make medicine out of poison, too. Poison-type Pokémon are the greatest, aren’t they?”

She giggled suddenly, like she had just let Whitley in on some big secret. Whitley just nodded quickly and stepped away from the bed to let the physician work. She didn’t like the look in Moon’s eyes, but she didn’t know how to help Blake without her. It was getting late, after all. Perhaps it was time for her to follow Yuki’s lead and head out.

Whitley bid Blake a silent goodbye and slipped out of the clinic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't have much to say about this chapter, other than the fact that I love Moon.
> 
> **Up next: Whitley finally gets to take a look at that note...**


	23. Connection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I added a new chapter to TMA today. If you have any interest in Hugh's backstory, definitely go check it out!

As soon as Whitley had entered the clinic, White turned to Ruby. “Thank you again for all your help, Ruby,” she said. “Go home and get some rest. You’ve earned it.”

Ruby nodded and headed out, leaving White alone in the hallway with the purple-haired woman. White folded her arms and eyed her suspiciously. “Why are you so interested in talking to Whitley all of a sudden?” she asked.

The purple-haired woman glanced around. “Is there someplace more private that we can talk?”

White nodded and beckoned for the woman to follow her. The BW Agency office was clearly the closest, but being right next door to the clinic, there was the off chance that Sun or Moon could hear them through the wall. The next best option was her secondary office, the owner’s office. But, as it was her secondary office, it was a bit of a mess. There were piles of paperwork scattered everywhere, which crunched under their feet as they entered.

White cleared some papers off the desk so she could sit on it and face her guest. “Now, Anabel, spill. What is it that you want to talk to Whitley about?”

“I want to tell her about Black 2.”

If White had been drinking something, she would have done a spit take. “You want to do _what_?” she stammered out, certain that she had misheard or misunderstood her companion. “I thought you _wanted_ her not to know anything.”

Anabel nodded. “Originally, yes. But from what I’ve observed and what Looker has reported, she seems to be quite attached to him. It would be quite painful for her to see him leave again without a proper explanation as to why. With as secretive as she is about…everything else, I believe I can trust her discretion with this information.”

“So you want to tell her… _everything_?” White said disbelievingly. “But…why now? Why not just have him tell her sooner?”

“Well…truth be told, I never intended to at first. But after I got here, Looker told me that he didn’t feel right lying to her again, because – in his words – ‘she’s such a sweet young lady with no idea of the web of lies she’s caught in.’ So, I’ll tell her the truth of it all. She won’t like it, I’m sure, but she won’t tell anyone else about it, either. There’s no harm done. It wouldn’t be the first breach of protocol on this mission, anyways,” she added, giving White a knowing look.

White took a deep breath. “Don’t,” she said. “She’ll never believe it if it comes from you. I don’t think she’d even believe it if it came from me. The only way she’ll believe it is if he tells her himself. Can you give him that much? Give him the chance to explain his actions himself.”

“Very well,” Anabel replied tersely.

White arranged to meet Anabel at the clinic at precisely ten o’clock in the morning. White would get Whitley to come down to the clinic; if she had not gotten him to explain himself by the time Anabel arrived, she would help him in his explanation. It was long past time for Whitley to learn the truth.

* * *

Foongy literally flew at Whitley as soon as she stepped into her dressing room. She cried out in surprise when the mushroom Pokémon slammed into her shoulder and clung to it like a child reunited with his mother. Whitley felt a twinge of guilt that Foongy had been cooped up in her dressing room all night, with no idea of what happened and therefore harboring only a general concern for her well-being.

“I’m sorry I made you worry, Foongy,” Whitley said, scooping him off her shoulder and holding him in her hands. “I’m okay, but I think I’m going to spend the night here.”

Foongy squeaked and fell backwards in her palms, searching her face with widened eyes. Predictably, disbelief soon morphed into indignation, and he began to berate her in his own language until he ran out of breath and had to sit back in her hands.

Whitley had already prepared her defense against her Pokémon’s inevitable tirade. “It’s so late, Foongy,” she began. “It might be dangerous to walk back now. And,” she continued firmly, cutting off Foongy’s attempt at a rebuttal, “after what happened tonight, I don’t think we have anything to fear from Hugh anymore.”

Foongy glowered at her, but curiosity soon won out and he relaxed and cocked his head to the side. Whitley smiled. “Thank you, Foongy. I’ll tell you the whole story once we get back to my bedroom.”

He hopped onto her shoulder and Whitley started to gather the things she had left here before the performance. The outfit she had worn to the Theater was still draped over the back of her chair; she picked it up and draped it over her arm instead. She didn’t need to change since she was already wearing pajamas, but there was no point in leaving it here when she could just change in her room when she woke up. She also grabbed her bag from the vanity dresser and slung that over her other shoulder. Then, they were off to Whitley’s bedroom.

Whitley found herself yawning more than once during the brief walk, but she had promised Foongy that she’d recount the events of the night to him when they got there. As soon as she woke up in the morning, she’d want to go check on Blake, and it didn’t seem fair to force Foongy to wait until after that visit, too. So, despite her exhaustion, once they were both settled down in her room, Whitley began to tell her tale.

She started with the last thing that Foongy knew: Whitley leaving her dressing room to go perform _Don George Triumphant_. Then, everything came spilling out: singing the duet with Hugh, being dragged down to his lair, learning about his childhood, seeing the full extent of his pain, attempting to flee with Blake, watching Blake’s torture, kissing Hugh.

“I wanted to show him that I was willing to stay with him,” she said. “I figured he would believe my actions more than he would my words. As it was, though…I guess it ended up being more like a final gift. Because right after that, he sent Blake back up to the surface and let me walk up on my own.”

Whitley chose not to mention to Foongy the fact that she had returned to give Hugh his ring back. That felt like a more intimate moment, a secret memory that was just for the two of them to share. Besides, she didn’t think it would go over very well with Foongy, considering how he’d reacted just to hearing that she kissed him.

“Before I left, I took something of his…oh, don’t give me that look, he had just thrown him away,” Whitley said. She pulled the crumpled note out of her pocket. “I haven’t gotten the chance to read it yet, though.”

She carefully unfurled the paper; it was so worn that she was afraid that she might tear it just by smoothing it out. She had suspected that the words on the paper weren’t his; still, it was a little surprising to be greeted not by his familiar messy red scrawl, but by stiff, blocky gray letters that looked straight out of a child’s handwriting book.

Then she read them.

**August 8, 20XX**

**Erik,**

**I have some good news and some bad news. The good news is, Sissy is finally having her baby! I can’t wait to meet her. Nana and I had to take Sissy to the hospital so the doctors can look after her while she has her baby. The bad news is, Nana wants me to stay with them tonight, so I won’t be able to see you tonight. But Nana said I could go and tell you what’s happening before I go back to the hospital, and I’ll come back tomorrow as soon as I can!**

**Anyway, there’s not much I can do to help them out while Sissy’s baby is coming. So I’ve had a lot of time to think. And I was thinking…I know I can’t give you a goodbye kiss because you get hurt when people touch you. But Mommy’s bandages didn’t hurt you, right? So maybe I can give you a kiss indirectly. I put a goodbye kiss for you on this paper, right here. - >**

**You can receive it wherever you like!**

**See you soon!**

**Love, Mack**

She checked the date again – 19 years ago today.

_“She left me a note that day saying she was going to return late.”_

The blank space on the paper that the arrow pointed to was significantly more worn than the rest of the sheet.

_See you soon…_

Whitley covered her eyes with a hand to keep the tears from dripping onto the note. How many times had he taken this paper and pressed it to his face in the hope of feeling a kiss which he had never been able to receive from a person? How long had he clung to this special gift from his little sister before he realized it was the last one she’d ever be able to give him? And how heartless could a mother be to allow her children to grow up with the belief that one of them could never feel anything but pain from another’s touch?

“Poor Erik,” she whispered, grabbing a tissue to dab at her eyes. Then she paused, remembering what he had said when she addressed him by that name. “No…poor _Hugh_.”

She laid the note down on the bed next to her where Foongy could read it. It made sense in retrospect, given what he had told her about his mother’s treatment of him, that he would never have received a kiss before Whitley kissed him. Yet it wasn’t until now, after reading this letter, that it really hit her just how exceptional such a gesture would have been for him.

Foongy, having finished reading the note, tugged on the corner of Whitley’s shirt to get her attention. She started to scoop him up and put him on her shoulder, but he jumped away and landed on the note. She flinched at the sound of the note crunching under Foongy’s weight, but it didn’t seem to have been damaged any when he hopped off it.

Now that Whitley was looking at him, Foongy pointed to one of the lines in the second paragraph of the note. She re-read it; it was the sentence about the bandages. “Leo had said that the brother of the girl he had a crush on always kept his head wrapped in bandages,” Whitley remembered. “I guess that’s what she was referring to.”

Foongy shook his head and covered his face with his arms, then took one away so only half of his face was covered.

“Oh…his mask? He told me that he stole his first mask from a Yamask, and that was thirteen years ago.” Which would have been after his sister’s passing. The note said _Mommy’s bandages_ didn’t _hurt you_ … Whitley blinked. Unless he had used some other covering that wasn’t a mask to hide himself…his little sister had looked at his true face every day for months and loved him all the same.

Whitley felt a little awed by this seven-year-old girl who acted with the maturity of an adult. Children could accept things more easily than adults, but they had to be told what to accept first. Mack’s mother definitely never told her daughter to accept her brother as he was; how was Mack able to do it? It took a sharp spike of adrenaline for Whitley to look at Hugh’s face without flinching…although, once she had done it the first time it was a lot easier each subsequent time. By the end of the night, she really didn’t care what he looked like; he was a broken, lonely man who needed healing and comfort. She chuckled sadly to herself; it seemed that she and Mackenzie were both great at recognizing his humanity…and still hurt him the most.

The thought gave her pause. Assuming her reasoning was correct, they had both treated him like a normal person when no one else would. What else did she know about Mackenzie? She was the most important person in Hugh’s world, because she had been the only person in Hugh’s world. She was kind and willing to help others. She had died on the same date as Whitley’s mother. She had run away from home with Hugh so they could start a new life away from their own mother…

_“We’re going to fix the mistakes of the past by beginning our future…together!”_

The sheer domesticity of Hugh’s actions when they had first arrived in his lair had been utterly bewildering to Whitley. Now she was starting to understand what he had been doing. He was trying to recreate the domestic bliss that he had once found himself in with his little sister, and Whitley was there to take Mackenzie’s place. Just like how Hugh’s actions had reminded Whitley of her mother, Whitley’s actions and personality had reminded Hugh of his little sister, and he had thought – or maybe just hoped – that she would be able to do everything that Mack had done for him, and more. Giving him a kiss that Mack had always thought it impossible to give him had helped Hugh realize that Whitley would never behave just like his little sister. And that probably destroyed any delusions he might have had that Whitley was staying with him purely of her own free will…so he decided to give Whitley her free will back, for real. Perhaps that was why he let her go.

But, no matter the exact reason for Hugh’s decision to release her, Whitley could confidently say one thing for certain: if it was his face that condemned him, it was Hugh’s love that redeemed him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Up next: Blake has some pretty big secrets to spill...**


	24. Honesty

Whitley woke up bleary the next morning. She hadn’t stayed up much later after reading Mack’s letter, but even then, it was quite late at night to be going to sleep. She had no idea why she was awake if she was still this tired, but then she heard someone speaking in a hushed whisper a few feet away.

Her instincts told her to open her eyes and identify the hushed whisperer in her room. But her brain just wanted the person to shut up, so she could slip back into blissful unconsciousness. The whispering finally stopped, and Whitley’s mind began to slip away from the world once more.

Then something prodded her face and pulled her back into reality. Whitley groaned and tried to push it away, but it would not be deterred and now it was adding its voice to the mix.

It was that familiar high-pitched cry that finally moved Whitley to respond. “Foongy,” she groaned, “what is it?”

Of course, Foongy couldn’t exactly respond to her request in a way that she could understand while her eyes were closed. So, Whitley finally opened her eyes and stared at her Pokémon. Foongy tugged at her hair and jumped off the bed.

Whitley sat up, rubbing her eyes, and glanced around the room. The hushed whisperer was nowhere to be seen, although she did notice that her bedroom door was slightly ajar. Perhaps someone had come in to tell Foongy to wake her up, though she had no idea why. A quick glance at the clock revealed that it was a few minutes past nine; no wonder she was so tired. Normally she managed to get at least eight hours of sleep each night.

But, she was awake now. There was no point in wistfully longing for sleep that she could never get back. A grin slid onto her face as she slipped out of bed, knowing what she could do with her time now that she was awake. “I’m going to visit Blake,” she announced cheerfully, heading over to her dresser. “He ought to be awake by now, don’t you think, Foongy?”

Foongy made a noncommittal grunt as Whitley changed into her usual casual outfit: baseball shirt with light blue three-quarter sleeves, loose yellow shorts, black leggings, light blue high-tops. She ran a brush through her hair and tied it into her signature donuts before turning to Foongy with a smile. “Would you like to come with me, Foongy?”

He considered his options. He didn’t enjoy being stuck in this bedroom all day in the slightest, but the alternative was going to pay a sickbed visit to Whitley’s boyfriend – whom he still didn’t trust. As much as he wanted to go out with Whitley, he thought that was too high of a price to pay. He shook his head, and Whitley shrugged. “Suit yourself,” she said, and with a skip in her step Whitley headed out the door to the clinic.

It wasn’t that Whitley had forgotten the events of the night before; no, they were still burned in her memory. But, if her inference was correct that Hugh had let her go because he wanted her to be happy, then she would be happy, damn it. She’d had enough pity parties to last her a lifetime. Besides, she suspected Blake would be much happier to see her happy when she visited him – that he hadn’t endured all that pain for her sake and she was still miserable.

If only he wouldn’t be the one to make her that way.

When Whitley stepped into the clinic, she was surprised to see that the chair beside Blake’s bed was already occupied. “Ms. Lefévre! What are you doing here?”

“Please, just call me White,” the brunette said with a half-smile. “There’s no reason we can’t all be on a first-name basis. I was just having a conversation with Blake here, but I think he wants to talk to you now.”

“Now, wait a moment,” Blake protested weakly, but White stood up, ignoring him.

As she passed by Whitley, she put a reassuring hand on her shoulder and said quietly, “No matter what happens here in the next half-hour, I want you to remember that he really does love you. He wouldn’t have done what he did last night otherwise.”

Whitley blinked in confusion at the cryptic comment, but White left the room before Whitley could even form a question to ask her. She surveyed the room before turning her attention back to Blake. The two of them were the only people in the room now – Leo had been released already, and Moon and Sun were who knew where.

Blake sat up and watched Whitley apprehensively as she took the seat that White had been occupying. He cleared his throat, but said nothing.

Whitley watched him expectantly, keeping a shy smile on her face.

Blake cleared his throat again and turned his head to the side. He pretended to have developed a fascination with the empty cot on the other side of the room.

Awkward silence reigned over them for a few moments more like an ill-disposed host. Finally, Whitley broke it by saying, “I see you got the gauze off your nose. That’s good!”

“Somewhat,” he muttered.

“What?”

Blake sighed. “The gauze is gone, but the swelling will not recede for a week or two. Additionally, Moon said this morning that she does not have the ingredients with her to make the right antidote for the poison in my ankle. She needs something stronger than just Pecha Berries to make it, so she has gone out to fetch…whatever it is. I am on strict bed rest until then…”

Whitley’s first instinct was to apologize on Hugh’s behalf, but she quickly restrained herself. _That_ would prompt a whole new slew of questions that she was not ready to answer just yet. Too bad it was practically impossible to talk about Blake’s injuries without talking about how he got them.

So, in lieu of some apology or false platitude, Whitley changed the subject. “So, what was it that you wanted to talk to me about?”

“Oh. Right.” He sighed again and rubbed his temples. “Well, it is not so much that I wanted to talk to you about this as it is I am being forced to talk to you about this,” he admitted. “I, er…White insisted, and…uh, it might be for the best, but…er, that is not…that is to say–”

“Come on, you can tell me,” Whitley encouraged him. “Does this have to do with what happened last night?”

Blake grimaced. “Well…yes and no. It has to do with what I was _supposed_ to do last night.”

“Which was?”

“It was…well, there is really no delicate way to put this.”

“Then just say it already!” Whitley exclaimed, exasperated.

“My mission was to arrest the Phantom!” he shouted, looking at the ceiling. There, it was out. That wasn’t so bad, was it? Now White would stop pestering him about it, and his ankle would heal and then he and Anabel would slip away quietly like nothing ever happened.

Of course, his heart would be utterly broken beyond repair…but at least that meant he wouldn’t have to deal with any “distractions” like this mission ever again.

“Mission? Arrest? But only the police can do that,” Whitley said, puzzled. “Why would a viscount be concerned with any of that?”

Ah, that’s right. He had allowed it to conveniently slip his mind that Whitley really didn’t know anything – which meant that the job now fell upon _him_ to explain _everything_. Those two women really did love to treat him to their own brand of torture. Perhaps it was best to start from the beginning.

“Whitley, do you remember…ten years ago, when we went to the Trainer’s School together?”

“I do.”

“Looker told you, after I left, that my father had called me back to Kalos to be educated in a manner more properly befitting a boy of my noble status.”

“He did.”

“What Looker told you…was completely a lie.” Start by putting the blame on someone else, so that he wouldn’t seem so awful for perpetuating it. He was still too nervous to look at her to see her reaction, though, so he continued to pointedly avoid making eye contact.

Her brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?”

She didn’t understand. Of course not. That would be too easy. He sighed. He would have to be bluntly honest with her. “Whitley, the truth is that I…” White’s words from the night before suddenly came back to him.

_“You love her, don’t you? Do you want her to spend the rest of her life thinking that was a lie?”_

He impulsively grabbed Whitley’s hand tightly, willing her to look at him and see the truth in his eyes. “I love you. You know that, correct?”

She nodded slowly. “Blake, what is this about?”

“Yes, I do love you. I always have, really – even back when we were little kids. I was not supposed to, though – form attachments to others. It is not forbidden per se, but it is strongly discouraged.” He knew he was rambling now, and making Whitley even more confused, but he couldn’t stop himself. “It is a weakness that our enemies can exploit. That is one problem. But there is another problem. We cannot have too many people knowing the truth, can we? It is all built on lies. It is very difficult sometimes, knowing that your whole job is to lie for the greater good…”

“Blake.” Whitley said his name so calmly, with such certainly, that he couldn’t help but stop and focus on her. She didn’t seem to hate him yet – which was good – but he hadn’t really explained the heart of the matter yet, either. “Take a deep breath, focus your thoughts, and then continue.”

Inside, Whitley was extremely worried for him. Blake was usually the calm and controlled one – what was he trying to say that had caused him to deteriorate into this frenetic, nervous state? The only thing that kept her from dissolving into a bundle of nerves like him was the knowledge that one of them had to stay sane now, and it certainly wasn’t going to be him.

“I am sorry, Whitley,” he finally said. “I made a mistake. I made a lot of mistakes. But the worst one was that I never got over you.”

Whitley felt a chill deep in her chest. “Are you saying…you regret falling in love with me?”

“No, no! That is not what I meant at all!” he gasped. “No, I am…so very blessed to have known you, to have gotten the chance to know you. I just wish that we could have known each other under different circumstances. Because these circumstances are…very painful. That is all.”

“What circumstances?” Whitley asked softly, figuring she knew what the answer was and that he just needed to admit it out loud. “Why are they painful?”

“Well…” Blake gulped and released Whitley’s hand, staring at his fidgeting fingers. “I am not a viscount at all, Whitley. I am a Superintendent of the International Police.”

There was complete silence in the clinic, aside from Blake cracking his knuckles. He couldn’t decide if he wanted to just continue his explanation or wait for Whitley’s reaction – she had been nothing but patient with him thus far, so surely she would continue to treat him with that same kindness and patience that she always did? But while he couldn’t open his mouth to continue talking, he couldn’t turn his head to see Whitley’s expression, either. He just laid there, waiting for her to say something, anything.

“Always?” she finally rasped. Blake turned his head in the direction of her voice and saw that she was staring at the wall over his head, with a distant look in her eye. “You were…always…?”

“Always,” he replied, feeling sick to his stomach. “I was…an undercover agent. One of the best ones in the Unova branch, even when I was ten years old. When we met, I was on a mission to capture the Seven Sages of Team Plasma. We believed that one of the students at the Trainer’s School was a former member of Team Plasma who would be able to give us information on their whereabouts.

“However, after about a year and a half with no success, the branch chief, Nanu, sent in another officer who had been looking for the Seven Sages independently to assist me. That was Looker. While we were working together, Looker learned that I had been paying a man outside of Interpol to be my…personal manager, of sorts.”

Blake sighed. “I was quite the perfectionist back then, you see. I always felt the need to prove myself, since I was so young but also so high-ranking. So, I had hired a man who called himself the Magician to help me achieve absolute perfection in my work. But that sort of thing is frowned upon in Interpol, so Nanu called me off the mission and transferred me to the Alolan division – that’s what Looker was referring to when he said my father called me back to Kalos. In Alola, I was required to work directly with their branch chief, Anabel.”

“Lady Anabel,” Whitley murmured. “You claimed she was the Countess of Chenonceau. But really, she was…your branch chief?”

Blake nodded. “I was required to work as Anabel’s auxiliary until she determined I was trustworthy again. Most of that time I spent working with her, but a year ago she finally allowed me to come back to Unova to work on a case that I had heard about from a friend of mine in Nanu’s division. He had heard rumors about someone extorting money from the owner of the Musical Theater and threatening performers and crew members, but no one had investigated the matter because the person in question was supposedly a ghost. When I contacted the owner and asked her about it, she refused to give me permission to investigate – but she did not deny that someone was doing those things. Anabel gave me permission to go undercover as the Viscount of Chenonceau again to investigate the ‘ghost’ and its relationship to the owner of the Theater.” He paused and took a deep breath. “I…I did not expect to find you working there.”

“You…you are telling me the truth.” Whitley’s voice betrayed no emotion.

“Yes.”

“Then, allow me to summarize what you’ve said thus far.” Her voice was still monotone, but her hand clenched the sheet on top of Blake tightly when she continued. “You came here as an undercover officer of the International Police to investigate the Phantom,” she said harshly, “while all the while you were perfectly content to call yourself the Viscount of Chenonceau and insist that there’s no such thing as the Phantom of the Musical? Do I have that right?”

“Y-yes, but…Whitley, it’s not like that–”

“Like _hell_ it’s not!” Whitley cried, slamming her other fist down onto the bed. “You’re telling me that you’ve been lying to me every second of the day for this past year – no, for the past _ten_ years! And you’re telling me this now because – why? Why are you finally telling me this _now_ , Blake? Did the guilt finally catch up with you, now that I’ve been delivered from the hands of one liar to another? At least _he_ had the decency to–”

She cut herself off then, because what _did_ make Hugh’s lies less awful than the ones that Blake had been feeding her? He had lied to her for years, too, and he hadn’t even been apologetic about it. In fact, he hadn’t really addressed it until she confronted him about it. And perhaps that was where the issue laid – Hugh never really called himself the Angel of Music; he was always just _her_ angel, which he was, in a way. But Blake had never even attempted to spare her feelings with half-truths. He always reassured her with lies, whether she recognized them as such or not.

“Whitley, I am so sorry,” Blake whispered. “But I had no choice.”

“Perhaps you didn’t when we were younger,” she snapped, “but you still _chose_ to perpetuate those lies when we met again rather than correct them!”

“No! I had no choice then, either!”

“Then why now? What makes it okay now if it wasn’t okay before?”

“Because I have to leave!”

Whitley blinked, letting her arms drop to her sides. “What?” she finally said.

Blake sighed. “I failed my mission,” he said. “I failed to capture the Phantom. So, I have to return to Alola now. But Anabel gave me permission to explain truthfully why I have to leave.”

“Oh,” Whitley said quietly. She fixed her gaze on a wrinkle in Blake’s sheet. “You lied to me about who she was, too.”

“I know, and I _am_ sorry about it,” he said. “But in this line of work, it is…secrets must be kept, Whitley. That is why they discourage close personal relationships. We are not forbidden to love…but it is so much easier if we do not.”

“That doesn’t seem fair,” Whitley pouted. “You can’t choose whether or not you fall in love.”

“I know,” Blake said, reaching for Whitley’s hand again. “But when it happens, there are two expectations. Either you do not pursue the relationship…or your partner has to join Interpol.”

Whitley shifted her hand away from Blake’s without thinking as she whipped her head around to look at him. “I can’t join Interpol!”

“And I would not expect you to,” he replied, dropping his hand back down to the cot. “Therein lies my problem. The whole reason why I wanted to work on another case in Unova was because I hoped I might see you again. But then, when I did, and you were so closely linked to the case I was supposed to be working on…” He spread his arms helplessly. “It was so easy to spend time with you and tell Anabel that I was just gathering information from a key witness. I should have pulled away when I realized that I was in love with you, but I did not.”

“And now, here we are,” Whitley said with a sigh, leaning back on her seat. “Does Anabel know, then? That we’re…?”

Blake shook his head. “If she knew, she would have pulled me off this case months ago. She would not want to risk personal attachments interfering with my work. So, to be perfectly honest, I have no idea how White convinced her to let me tell you the truth.”

The muscles in Whitley’s face tightened, and she whipped her head down to look at him. “ _White knows_?”

“Yes?” he said hesitantly, raising an eyebrow at her.

“How?” she demanded.

“I was able to investigate the Theater under the guise of being a patron for the new managers, but White noticed my interest in the Phantom right away and connected me with the Interpol officer who had asked her about investigating her ‘ghost’. So, she confronted me about it, and I had to tell her the truth.”

Whitley’s gaze pierced into Blake’s skull. “White knew _the whole time_?”

“Y-yes.” Her anger was starting to unnerve him. “Anabel was not happy about it until I got valuable information out of her that I could not have gotten otherwise.”

“You mean to tell me…that you lied to your own girlfriend until your boss told you to stop, but you told a suspicious character you barely knew the truth just because she _asked_?” Whitley’s hands were shaking now, and she curled them tightly into fists as she stood up. “I trusted you,” she hissed. “I shared my biggest secrets with you even though I was afraid of retribution. And yet you couldn’t do the same for me?”

Blake paled. He wanted to protest, but he had no real defense for his actions. Whitley was absolutely right. His excuse for telling White that he was an officer of the International Police was that it encouraged her to tell him about the Phantom. Wouldn’t telling Whitley the truth have accomplished the same thing? He had been selfish and cowardly, trying to avoid having the conversation they had just had.

Now, he just slumped down on the cot, watching Whitley slam the door behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, uh...yeah. This is a reveal that I've been hinting at for a while, so it shouldn't come as a surprise to you if you were paying close attention. I took some liberties with Blake's history in Interpol, using characters who are associated with Interpol in the games. But it's still the same basic idea. I tried my best to make his choices understandable, but it's up to you to decide whether you think the choices he made were the right ones.
> 
> **Up next: Hugh has a couple more orders of business to take care of...**


	25. Leaving

While Blake suffocated in the deafening silence of the clinic, White found herself standing in an awkward silence in the owner’s office.

After leaving the clinic, she had made a round of the building to make sure everyone had gotten the message that the Theater was closed today. A couple of the more irresponsible chorus girls hadn’t, and they were quite relieved when White told them they could go home until further notice. Beyond them, the only people she could find in the building were Sun, Moon, and the janitors.

Satisfied, White had headed to the owner’s office to try organizing the catastrophic mess of papers a bit before she had to meet Anabel. During their conversation the night before, she’d made a mental note to work on getting the office in order; the Theater’s temporary closure was the perfect time for her to start. But when she glanced at her desk after entering, she froze.

There was someone sitting in the middle of it.

His piercing red eyes transfixed her for a moment, and she quickly dropped her gaze, feigning interest in the rest of his outfit. Red track jacket, tight black pants – just like he had been wearing the first time she met him. He had added a pair of black tennis shoes and a black backpack to his ensemble. She could clearly see the pair of fingerless black gloves on his hands as he drummed his fingers on his leg. He wasn’t wearing anything on his head, so she could see his wispy, blue, spiked head of hair. Finally, her gaze returned to his eyes and the intimidating full-face black mask that surrounded them.

Her initial shock was, naturally, accompanied by curiosity about why he was there. Those were closely followed by a strange sense of relief that he was still healthy enough to make it up to her office. Finally, she felt a twinge of guilt that, while she had convinced Blake to finally reveal the truth about the reason he had come to Unova to Whitley, Hugh still knew nothing of his deception.

After a full minute of silence, he finally said, “I have a favor to ask of you before I go.”

White blinked at him. “Go? Go where?”

He didn’t respond, instead uncrossing his legs and sliding off the desk. He stepped to the side and gestured to something on the desk. “I purchased these for Whitley,” he stated. “I wish for her to keep them. I trust you to ensure they are brought to her.”

White stepped forward and examined the items – a blouse, a skirt, and two ponytail holders with a pair of short ribbons attached. When she glanced back up, Hugh’s arms were folded, and he was looking at her expectantly.

“Well?” he prompted.

“Um…” She looked down at the clothes, then back at him. “Why can’t you deliver them yourself?”

“That was my original plan,” he replied. “But her Foongus spent the whole night guarding her, and I knew trying to confront him could only end poorly. It seemed that thing would never fall asleep, so I decided I’d have to ask you to deliver them for me instead.”

“Well, he has to sleep sometime,” White said, eyeing him suspiciously. “Plus, Foongy doesn’t stay in her room all the time. Why can’t you just leave them in her room later?”

“Because I’m leaving now,” Hugh replied tersely.

White felt like she’d just been blindsided by a Linebacker. “You’re… _leaving_? But this is your _home_! Where else can you go?”

Hugh shrugged. “To another region, perhaps? It’s becoming harder to find places in Unova where I have no history. I can find a new place to live, but I cannot stay here while she is here with him. I will not attempt to intrude on their happiness any longer.”

White stared at him, then at the ground. She didn’t want Hugh to leave so that Blake and Whitley could be together when she knew they wouldn’t be together much longer. But on the other hand, it might be better if Hugh left the Theater so that no one would have to worry about the Phantom returning. How did White personally feel about him leaving? The honest truth was that she missed her old friend; she wanted him to stay so they could try to repair their friendship. She certainly didn’t want him moving to another region where she’d likely never see him again. But the way their last two interactions had gone, she suspected that he wasn’t interested in being her friend again. And it really wouldn't be wise to keep him around if that was the case.

Finally, she decided it was best not to push him in the other direction. If he wanted to leave, whatever the reason, she would let him. She was no longer his boss; she was no longer his friend. It wasn’t her place to try to change his mind. She asked simply, “So, if you’re leaving, why only the backpack? Isn’t there more you want to take?”

Hugh shook his head. “The backpack has my essentials and valuables in it. I don’t need anything else. And…that’s the other reason I’m here.” He leaned back against White’s desk. “Everything that I didn’t put in this backpack is still down in my home. You’re welcome to do whatever you like with them – give them to the Theater, keep them for yourself, or whatever else you can think of. Consider it a thank-you gift for keeping it a secret all these years.”

White’s brow furrowed slightly. Hugh hadn’t been the type to express his gratitude through a gift when they were still friends. “Well…you’re welcome,” she said. His sudden generosity couldn’t be a bad thing.

Having nothing more to say, Hugh headed towards the closet. He’d entered the office through the attic and planned to leave it the same way. There weren’t many people around, but he still didn’t want to accidentally run into someone who was on edge from his actions the previous night.

“So, I guess this is goodbye?” White asked.

Hugh turned the doorknob and opened the closet door. “Correct,” he said, not looking back at White.

“We’ll never see each other again, then?”

“Perhaps,” he mused, glancing back at her. “Or perhaps I’ll come back someday. Once I’ve fixed myself.” Then, he noticed the outfit for Whitley lying on White’s desk and remembered that she’d never actually agreed to deliver it. “You will bring those clothes to Whitley, correct?”

Before White could respond, Sun suddenly burst into the office. “Ms. Lefévre!” he exclaimed. “We need your help!”

“What’s the matter?” White asked, turning to face him. Hugh had thrown himself into the closet as soon as he heard the door open, so Sun couldn’t see him. She hoped that the fact that she hadn’t answered Hugh’s question would be enough to keep him from leaving before she could ask him what he meant by “fixing himself”.

“The antidote Moon administered didn’t work,” he explained quickly. “To the viscount’s ankle, that is. It only agitated the puncture wounds, and they’re bleeding again. We need–”

“Nancy,” White cut him off, reaching for her Poké Balls. Alomomola had the ability to create a special mucus that heals wounds, and White lent hers to Moon whenever someone had a small wound that needed healing. She tossed Nancy’s Poké Ball to Sun. “Is that all?”

“Yes,” Sun said, but his response was drowned out by a louder, more resonant voice.

“Does she know how to treat the poison now?”

Sun yelped and jumped back, staring in the direction of the voice with wide eyes. “It’s the Phantom!”

“Yes, and he raises a good point,” White said calmly, though her whole body had gone rigid. “You said the antidote didn’t work…so is Moon making a new one?”

“Sh-she has to figure out what the poison is first,” he said rapidly. “But once she does, she’ll be able to make an antidote easily. She loves studying different poisons, you know.”

“Return to Moon with the Pokémon for the viscount. I will take care of the antidote.”

Sun glanced at White for guidance, and she merely glanced at the time on her Xtransceiver. “Do you know who Anabel is?” Sun shook his head. “Long purple hair, spiffy black suit, totally commanding presence. You can’t miss her. She’s waiting for me outside the clinic – apologize to her for me and tell her I can’t make it.” Sun stared at her blankly until she finally shooed him away and shut the door.

Hugh emerged from the closet as soon as Sun had left. White turned to face him and opened her mouth to speak, but he beat her to it. “Your intern’s girlfriend,” he said. “Does she still live on Route 4?”

“Does…what?” White said blankly. “How should I know?”

“She used to work for you,” he said, glancing at the filing cabinets in the back corner of the room.

“Crystal?” He nodded assent, and White rubbed her temples. She had seen the blue-haired woman with Gold a few times, but she didn’t remember having the girl in her employ before. Or, wait…hadn’t she been a janitor for a couple of years? But still… “I don’t know where she lives!”

He hummed impatiently, approaching the filing cabinets. “Maybe it’ll be in his employee file.”

White watched with a mix of awe and irritation as Hugh unlocked the filing cabinet and began flicking through the files inside with practiced ease. He only checked a few files in the first drawer before closing it and kneeling beside the cabinet. He shoved aside the papers in front of the bottom drawer and pulled it open. He skipped around a bit before finally pulling out a manila file folder.

“Here it is. Emergency contacts…yes, it’s the same address. Perfect.”

Hugh realigned the papers in the folder and moved to put it away. “I don’t understand,” White said with a sigh. “Why did you need to look up Crystal’s address?”

“It’s been eight years,” he responded casually. “Things can change a lot in that time.”

“Eight years…since what?” White said, following him towards the closet. “And what does this have to do with getting an antidote for Blake?” A thought suddenly struck her. “You…you are getting the antidote for Blake, right?”

“Yes,” he said irritably. “I didn’t intend to do him any permanent damage.”

“So what does this have to do with that?”

“Tochukaso.”

White stared at him in bewilderment as he entered her closet. When he offered no clarification to his cryptic answer, she finally asked, “What’s tochukaso?”

Hugh grinned to himself and turned around to face White. “You don’t know? I thought you were a Pokédex holder.”

“If that’s a Pokémon, I’ve never heard of it,” White retorted.

He smirked under the mask. “It’s not. But if you look up the Pokédex entry for a Pokémon called Paras, you’d find out.”

“I don’t have my Pokédex on me,” she admitted. “Can’t you just tell me?”

Hugh sighed exaggeratedly, as though this were a terrible inconvenience. “I suppose,” he said. “The mushrooms on Paras’s back are called tochukaso. When a Paras evolves into Parasect, the tochukaso starts scattering toxic spores, but there’s also a way to turn the spores into medicine.”

“Oh!” White exclaimed as the pieces started clicking into place. “Let me guess. The poison that you used on Blake was tochukaso spores, so you need tochukaso spores to make the antidote. And Crystal has a Parasect, which produces tochukaso spores. Am I right?”

“Precisely,” Hugh said, snapping his fingers. “Good to see you haven’t lost _all_ your brain cells. After you hired those boneheaded managers, I was a little concerned.”

“Aw, you were concerned about me? I’m touched!”

Hugh turned his head away sharply, and White’s teasing grin faded. He may have been starting to act friendlier towards her, but her attempts at best-friend banter might have come off a little too strong. He might be staying a little longer to get the antidote for Blake, but that didn’t mean he was going to stay for good. It wasn’t like they could ever get that close again.

Hugh cleared his throat. “I will need your assistance to retrieve the antidote. Will you come with me?”

He glanced back at her, grateful to the mask that hid any evidence of fear that might have shown on his face. He didn’t expect her to want to come with him, especially after how awkwardly her attempt at playful banter had ended. But as fun as it was, slipping back into that old routine only reminded him painfully that he wasn’t her trusted advisor and friend anymore. He wished he had thought to ask her to come with him before he told her why they needed to see Crystal; curiosity might have been enough to convince her to help him. If she refused, then he’d have to retrieve the antidote alone.

And he hated to work alone.

So, when White said, “Of course I will”, Hugh felt relief flood through his limbs. “Let’s go get that antidote,” she said with a half-smile.

Under the mask, Hugh gave her a half-smile in return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hugh and White. Man, do they have a complicated relationship. And I love it. I actually debated for a while whether I wanted their relationship to go a romantic route or have it be more like a brother-sister love. But I knew I didn't want White to romance Hugh if she couldn't tolerate his face, and I didn't want to muddle Hugh's emotions even more by throwing a new sister figure into the mix. Thus, an advisor/friends relationship seemed most fitting.
> 
> Hugh's outfit is pretty much identical to his in-game outfit at this point, just with thinner hair and the addition of the mask. Also, I've always loved the fact that the mushrooms on Paras's back are actually given a name in the Pokédex - all that information that Hugh gives comes from Paras and Parasect's Gen V Dex entries (with the exception of the turning spores into medicine part, which is only mentioned in a few of Parasect's entries from other games). Paras's Ultra Moon Pokédex entry may be my favorite Pokédex entry for a Pokémon ever:  
>  _The mushrooms, known as tochukaso, are controlling the bug. Even if the bug bugs the mushrooms, they tell it to bug off._
> 
> **Up next: Getting the antidote is a cinch, but there's something more important than Blake's ankle that needs healing...**


	26. Healing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry...I've been putting off posting this chapter for far too long because I wanted to talk about it, but I've been having trouble stringing words together lately...
> 
> So eventually, I just kinda have to say "screw it" and post it anyways. Enjoy!

Unfortunately, retrieving the antidote wasn’t quite as easy as knocking on Crystal’s door, asking for the antidote, and bringing it to Blake. Since the antidote was made by distilling poisonous spores, Crystal didn’t have any just lying around. In addition, she informed White that the amount of antidote they’d need depended on the spread and severity of the poison. Fortunately, Crystal had no problem with coming back to the Musical Theater with White to make the antidote to help Blake.

Sun met White and Crystal outside the clinic with a puzzled expression on his face. “Who’s this?” he asked White.

“I’m Crystal,” Crystal said. “Or Crys, for short. White says that you’ve got a patient here with an injury that you can’t heal?”

Sun blinked. “Um, well, it’s more of a poison that we don’t know how to cure.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Crystal said with a smile. “My Parasect can make all sorts of antidotes using its spores.”

“W-well, come right in then!” Sun exclaimed.

Moon, however, was less enthusiastic about the idea. “Do you not trust your own physician?” she demanded, once White had explained what Crystal was doing there. “I don’t appreciate it when people interfere with my treatment of my patients!”

“Ignore her,” Sun advised Crystal, who had bent over to examine Blake’s ankle. “She’s still angry at herself for incorrectly identifying the poison earlier.”

Crystal nodded and straightened up. “I’ve treated this poison before,” she said. “Parasee and I can do it again easily.”

“And…how long will it take to heal?” Blake asked.

Crystal hesitated. “Er…well, the last…person…took about eight hours to heal,” she said. “But he had a lot more of the poison in his body, so that might have slowed down the healing. Either way, you’ll be fine by tomorrow.”

“Oh,” Blake said, sinking back into his pillow.

White felt a twinge of sorrow as well; if Blake was fine by tomorrow, Hugh would be leaving tomorrow, too. She’d been elated when he told her that he had decided to stay at the Theater until Blake was fully healed, stating that he owed it to Whitley to make sure that the viscount survived. But she hadn’t thought about the fact that it probably wouldn’t take much time for Blake to heal now that they’d brought the antidote he needed.

As Crystal moved to the other side of the room to start making the antidote, White headed over to Blake’s bedside. “How did your conversation with Whitley go?” White asked quietly, so that the others in the room wouldn’t overhear.

“Not very well,” he sighed. “I tried to soften the blow as much as I was able, but she was still understandably upset by what I told her. For a moment it seemed that she understood why I had to do it, but then I made the mistake of mentioning the fact that you knew the truth, too. After that, she was so angry that she stormed out of the room…”

“Why?” White asked, bewildered. “Was she jealous or something?”

“Or something,” Blake said. “She was angry because the reasoning I gave Anabel for telling you about my mission would have justified telling her about it, too. My only excuse for lying to her for the past ten months was my fear of her reaction.” He sighed again. “And if my ankle is healed by tomorrow, we will be leaving tomorrow. Even if she cannot forgive me, I want to at least be able to say goodbye…can you find her for me and tell her that?”

“Of course,” White promised.

However, as White was about to leave the clinic, someone suddenly caught her wrist from behind. She glanced back and saw Sun looking at her with big, fearful eyes. “What’s wrong?” she asked, but he just tugged on her arm to lead her out into the hallway without a word.

Once the door was safely closed behind them, Sun swallowed and said, “Ms. Lefévre…you brought Crystal here because the Phantom told you to, didn’t you?”

“Well…yes,” White replied.

“S-so…he’s really…” Sun laced his fingers together and dropped his gaze to his toes. “I…I had hoped…after what happened last night…that the Phantom would leave the Theater alone now…” He dropped his hands to his sides and raised his eyes a little, but still not quite enough to make eye contact with White. “I…I’m afraid what that might mean for me and Leo…and Moon and everybody else, too…”

White sighed. “Hey, Sun. Sun, look at me,” she said gently, putting her hands on Sun’s shoulders. When he finally met her gaze, she kept her eyes locked on his as she said, “Sun, you don’t need to be afraid of him. Remember, the Phantom isn’t really a phantom, but a man. And like all men, he can learn to be a better one.”

“Oh, so you’re taking up life counseling on top of everything else, now?”

White broke away from Sun, folding her arms across her chest. “Ruby!” she said crossly. The young designer was standing right behind the actor with a familiar impish glint in his eye. “Didn’t you remember that the Theater is...”

White trailed off, suddenly taking in Ruby’s appearance. His face was covered in glitter that sparkled in a rainbow of colors, flaking off as he moved. Plenty of the sparkles covered his clothes already. She almost didn’t notice it underneath the shimmering glitter, but there was definitely a yellow bruise on his cheek. “What happened to you? Are you okay?”

Ruby looked bewildered until he touched his cheek and came away with a glitter-covered hand. Then he just grinned. “Yes, I’m fine. Just a little accident with some glitter. But I’ve been looking all over for you! We wanted to talk to you.”

“We?” White asked.

A black-and-white Pokémon with long green hair shaped like a musical staff floated out from behind Ruby. White’s jaw dropped. “I didn’t mention it last night because you were so busy,” Ruby explained cheerfully, “but Iris, Yuki, and I battled Meloetta after the performance and I managed to catch her. She and I had a little chat this morning and she decided that she wanted to start helping Tierno with choreography.”

White still couldn’t believe that Ruby had caught a Mythical Pokémon, but she also couldn’t deny the evidence floating right in front of her. “I…wow. That’s incredible. I’m sure you’ll be a big help,” she added, addressing Meloetta.

Meloetta nodded smugly.

“Of course, that’s not all she can help with,” Ruby added. “She was telling me on the way over here all the things she helped out with on _Don George Triumphant_. Costumes, makeup notes, casting for the minor characters…”

Ruby trailed off, and an awkward silence ensued. Ruby and Sun both wanted to say something more to White, but neither felt that it was appropriate to say with the other present. Finally, Sun said, “But… Ms. Lefévre, aren’t you afraid of the Phantom, too?”

White’s annoyed expression faded, and she gazed calmly at Sun. “I was afraid of him once, that’s true,” she said. “But I’ve realized that I don’t have anything to be afraid of, and neither do you.”

Sun met her steady gaze and seemed to relax just the tiniest bit. Then his eyes fell to the floor and he muttered, “I-I should go help Moon and Crystal.” He slipped inside the clinic.

“Well, while we’re on the subject,” Ruby said as soon as Sun closed the door, “Meloetta’s offer of help, ah…did come with a condition.”

White wasn’t sure what that had to do with Hugh, but she gestured for Ruby to continue anyways.

“In exchange for her helping the Theater, I promised that I would help her get Hugh to join the Theater cast,” Ruby said, opening his hands in a supplicating gesture. “With that comment about him being to improve himself, does that mean you’d be willing to talk to him about…”

White looked bewildered. “There’s a big difference between Hugh wanting to improve himself and Hugh wanting to perform. Performing’s just not his style.”

“But he’s so talented. You don’t want to hear that talent on the Theater’s stage?”

“Well…I do, but…that’s not what _he_ wants.”

“And how do you know that he wants to improve himself? At the masquerade, you said that he’d changed for the worse and you didn’t think there was anything you could do about it.”

“I’ve talked to him since then,” White said. “A few times…including today. I don’t know what happened down there in his home last night, Ruby, but I think Whitley did _something_ to awaken a new humanity inside of him. This morning, he told me that he _wants_ to fix himself, and I’d like to help him if he’ll let me.” She shook her head. “But that doesn’t matter. He’s not going to stick around long enough to improve himself, or to become a performer. He’s planning to leave the Theater as soon as Blake heals. We just don’t have time.”

“Okay, but time isn’t going be the only issue, you know,” Ruby pointed out. “Sun’s reaction to finding out he’s still around isn’t exactly unique, I’d say. Other people aren’t going to support the idea of their old enemy hanging around.”

Meloetta looked furious, and she punched Ruby’s shoulder. “Ow! Can’t you punch the other one?” he protested, rubbing it. “I told you this would be a problem if we wanted Hugh to perform here. We should focus on rectifying the fact that no one else wants him here before we start trying to convince him to perform.”

As she watched Ruby talk to Meloetta, White was suddenly struck by an odd realization. “Ruby, you don’t seem to have any problems with Hugh staying here. Why is that?”

Ruby blinked at White, tilted his head, and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Well, to be honest, I don’t really think he’s all that bad,” he replied. “I mean, it sounds like he’s going to leave the Theater alone without putting up much of a fuss, and he wasn’t threatening the whole region or anything. I’ve worked with much worse people than him.”

White stared at him for a few moments, opening and closing her mouth wordlessly. Ruby never ceased to amaze her – or, at least, stun her into silence. Finally, she said, “It’s too bad the rest of the Theater doesn’t share your outlook on the situation. Maybe you can come up with some ideas about how to make it go over better with the others?”

Ruby nodded. “I’ll think on it,” he promised. “And one more thing…have you actually asked Hugh if he wants your help with this? That might make it easier for you to convince him to stay.”

“He’s already made up his mind, though,” White said. “If there’s one thing about Hugh that hasn’t changed, it’s the fact that he’s far too stubborn for his own good.”

Out of the corner of her eye, White noticed a floating pen writing something down on a notepad. The pen stopped writing and floated back to Meloetta, while the notepad floated towards White. She read the words, written in a familiar loopy script:

_You would be surprised at how easily that boy can be swayed when you are direct about what you want. He tends to have doubts about whatever decision he claims to be firm in. Talk to him. I think it will work._

White glanced from Ruby’s eager face to Meloetta’s smug one. “Alright, I’ll give it a shot,” she sighed. “Thanks, Ruby, Meloetta.”

She waved goodbye to the unlikely duo and headed towards her secondary office to rendezvous with Hugh. However, she was stopped twice along the way. First was by Anabel, who was rather irritated that White had missed their meeting and that she wasn’t able to talk to Whitley afterwards. White told her in very generic terms that Blake and Whitley’s conversation hadn’t gone well, and she was supposed to be talking to Whitley about it. Not much further down the hallway she ran into Diamond, who wanted to know when the Theater would reopen. White attempted to deflect the question, but he channeled his inner Pearl and refused to budge until she gave him an answer. Finally, she told him that she couldn’t say anything for certain until after Blake’s ankle healed and forced her way past him.

When she finally reached the owner’s office, she checked over her shoulder to make sure Diamond hadn’t followed her before pushing the door open. The office appeared slightly less messy than it had the night before. She could see some of the floor now, which was an improvement; however, as soon as Hugh saw her, he jumped to his feet and ruined much of the progress he had made.

“Everyone seems to be having such lovely conversations with the viscount today,” he said darkly. “Would you care to inform me why that is?”

“It’s a long story,” White said immediately, a little unnerved by the black mask in combination with his thinly veiled anger. “And, um, it’ll probably make you angry. This room is already enough of a mess as it is. Maybe we should talk about this on the way to Whitley’s room…”

“There will be no need for that,” Hugh said dismissively. “After I heard your conversation with that Anabel woman, I took the liberty of looking for Whitley myself to speed up your task. I checked in her bedroom and her dressing room, and neither she nor her accursed mushroom were in either. It would appear that she has left the Theater.”

“Maybe she’s with Yuki,” White suggested. “They’re best friends, after all. I can give Iris a call and ask.”

“Please do,” he said tersely.

White dialed Iris’s Xtransceiver number and her friend answered on the third ring. “Hi, White! What did you need?”

“Have you seen Whitley today?” White asked.

Iris’s bright countenance immediately dimmed. “I haven’t seen her since the performance last night. I would assume she’s still with…”

“With me?” Hugh chuckled darkly from behind White – close enough that Iris could hear him, but not enough that she could see him. “Ah, Mrs. Giry, if only that were the case.”

“H-Hugh!?” Iris gasped. “Are you – but why…?”

White ignored Iris and addressed Hugh, suddenly struck by an idea. “Could she have gone back down there? To your home? She’s been there a few times, and I’m sure she’s intelligent to find her way back down even if she can’t remember the exact path…”

“Why in the world _would_ she?” Hugh scoffed. “Even I don’t want to go back down there anymore. That place can only hold awful memories for her now…”

“Awful memories…like what?” White asked. “What happened down there last night, Hugh?”

“It’s a long story, and it’ll probably make you angry,” Hugh said, echoing White’s earlier words. “So, perhaps we’re both overdue for a round of storytelling?”

“As interesting as that sounds, I’m afraid I can’t stay on the line for that long,” Iris said, making White and Hugh both jump a little. They had forgotten that White hadn’t hung up on Iris yet. “But, you two go ahead and enjoy yourselves. I’m glad to hear that you’ve made up.”

“Made up? What are you talking about?”

“Well, as I recall, for the past eight years, you two have been communicating with each other solely through handwritten notes that you asked me to pass on for you,” Iris said, rolling her eyes. “Honestly, the whole thing just seemed childish. It’s about time that you got over it and repaired your friendship.”

Before Hugh could make any biting remark at her, Iris hung up.

They stood in silence for a few moments before White finally folded her arms and said, “You know, she’s right. Things kind of escalated over this past year, and…I can’t help but feel like they could have been prevented if we’d made up a long time ago. I want to be your friend again, if you’re okay with it.”

Hugh stared at her and shook his head disbelievingly. “You-you do?”

“Of course I do,” White said without missing a beat.

“But…” He shook his head again and put a hand to his mask. “I’m not the same person I used to be. And you’ve seen what I have to hide. You still can’t tolerate the sight of it.”

“No, I can’t,” White admitted, letting her hands fall to her sides. She had tried to look at him after the masquerade but failed then; she didn’t think she’d be any more successful if she tried again now. “But you’re more than just your face, Hugh. I didn’t befriend you because of your face, and I was a coward to let our friendship fall apart because of it. I’m sorry, for how I reacted then and how I’ve acted since.” She bowed her head, waiting.

When Hugh didn’t respond, she looked back up at him. He wasn’t making eye contact with her, and his masked face offered no clues to his emotions. “This is the part where you accept my apology and offer your own apology for the things you’ve done, especially in the last year,” she suggested.

Hugh was now shifting his gaze between several spots on the floor, as if it would somehow tell him how to get out of this situation. “No – er – I – I – I don’t – um – how?” he stuttered out, sounding just as puzzled as White felt looking at him.

Finally, he took a deep breath and said, “I…I was doing some thinking last night. You know, reflecting, planning, that sort of thing. And…I didn’t think you wanting to be friends with me again was within the realm of possibility, so…I…it’s a difficult idea for me to grasp. I’m still not entirely sure I believe you. Does that…make sense?’

“Sort of,” White said pensively. “I mean…I don’t really get _why_ you feel that way, but…I understand what you’re feeling.”

“If” – Hugh’s voice was tremulous – “if you are being fully honest, I…I think that it only adds unnecessary complications to my plans.” It had been easy to convince himself that he needed to leave when he thought that no one wanted him at the Theater the way he was.

Hugh had changed since he and White had their falling-out eight years ago. First it was just retreating behind the walls, causing mischief for the cast and crew as the Phantom. Then it was instructing Whitley as the Angel of Music. Finally, the most drastic change had started four years ago – the year Whitley turned eighteen and he finally admitted to himself that he loved her. His priorities had started to shift then, and he started to plan out her career – starting with usurping Yvonne Gābena as lead soprano of the Theater. She was still a little young to take the position then, but by the time Yvonne stepped down after her eighth season – as her predecessor did – Whitley would be 20, and he would make sure she was well-prepared to take Yvonne’s place. But Yvonne didn’t elect to step down, and White didn’t force her to, and Hugh was forced to take matters into his own hands – by threatening Yvonne until she chose to leave for good.

But he’d thought about all of this the night before. He hadn’t always resorted to threats to get people to listen to him, and he didn’t want to do so anymore. Assuming the role to intimidate Sun had just been the most effective option for him in that situation – in truth, he had grown tired of being the Phantom months ago. He wasn’t going to be the Phantom anymore. However, that didn’t mean he was suddenly a model citizen – he had a lot of things to learn about…well, about being “good”. No one at the Theater would ever believe that he was willing to improve himself, though, not after all the terrible things he’d done to them. He needed to go somewhere else, somewhere that no one would know him, somewhere that it would be easy for him to start over and learn how to be a better person.

Plus, it would be an excuse for him to stay away from the Theater while Whitley was still there. Hugh knew he would never stop loving Whitley. But if his love wouldn’t make her happy, he wasn’t going to force it on her. And why would she want his flawed, ugly love when she could have the viscount’s perfect, beautiful love instead?

Hugh shook his head. “White, I – I believe that you want me here. But as touching as that is…no one else shares your opinion.”

“That’s not true,” White argued. “Ruby doesn’t mind you staying.”

“Ruby?” Hugh echoed dubiously. “The gossipy glamour boy who blabbered all my secrets to my enemy doesn’t mind having me around?”

“He saw you as an enemy then,” White explained. “He doesn’t see you as an enemy anymore, and he even offered to help me figure out a way to get everyone else on board with you staying, too. I really want to help you improve yourself, Hugh. It’s only a matter of whether you want to accept my help.”

Underneath his mask, a small smile spread across Hugh’s face. White sounded exactly like she had sounded that time, over nine years ago, that she offered him a job as one of her stagehands. Back then, he’d denied the opportunity at first because he didn’t think anyone would want to work with him. But it had also sparked that little flame of rebellion inside of him, the one that drove him to survive purely out of spite for his mother. He accepted White’s offer then because it gave him the chance for normalcy, normalcy which his mother told him he could never have.

How far he’d come since that day. He knew now that true normalcy was impossible for him; his body and his actions both prevented that. But that didn’t mean that he couldn’t have any normal experiences – he could work, he could have friends, he could love. White could easily find work for him to do, and she said she was willing to be his friend again. And perhaps White could help him to become Whitley’s friend, too. To be friends with his angel again, like Mack had been…perhaps it wouldn’t be so unbearable to stay at the Theater after all.

“Alright,” Hugh sighed, rolling his eyes as though this were a major inconvenience. “I suppose I could stay a little longer. However would you run this Theater without me?”

White grinned and leaned back against her desk, letting her body relax. “Good to have you back,” she said.

“But there’s no way I’m staying in the same space as the viscount without Whitley here,” Hugh added. “So, let’s get back to figuring out where she might have gone, and why.” He eyed White pointedly with this last remark.

White sighed. “I suppose it’s about time I told you what Blake and Whitley were talking about this morning,” she said. “But before I do, I need you to promise me that you’re not gonna yell or make a ton of noise that could potentially attract someone’s attention, okay?”

Hugh nodded, and White began her abbreviated version of Blake’s story. True to his word, Hugh maintained a neutral expression and posture during White’s whole explanation. Once she was finished, he said icily, “I think I have a few choice words for the _superintendent_ now…including that I wouldn’t mind if the poison spread throughout his body and killed him.”

“Honestly, Hugh,” White said, rolling her eyes. “I’d tell you to chill, but you’re so cold already that if you got any more chill you’d freeze.”

“To mislead Whitley in such a deceitful manner is absolutely despicable.”

“Well, it’s not like you did much better.”

Hugh let out a huff. “Remind me to question her on the subject after we’ve found her,” he said sarcastically.

“Let’s split up and search the city for her,” White suggested. “Or do you think she would have gone somewhere else?”

Hugh shook his head. “Unless she really doesn’t plan to come back, I don’t think she would have gone that far.”

“Alright,” White said. “I’ll ask Ruby to help us look, too. But please be careful when you’re out looking. I don’t know if the Interpol officers who were here last night stuck around, but if they did…”

“Well, I don’t think being caught by the police should be a problem,” Hugh responded drily. “They’re looking for a man in a white mask, and Whitley stole it from me.”

“Oh, that reminds me. Yuki has your mask now. I meant to tell you that earlier.”

Hugh quirked his lips under the mask. “Then I suppose I might be paying the young Giry a visit later.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my original plan for this chapter, this was how the whole middle third of this chapter was supposed to go:  
> >White calls Iris and asks her if Whitley's at her apartment, and Iris says she isn't  
> >Hugh says she doesn't have a Xtransceiver of her own, so they can't call her directly  
> >Then he asks White again what exactly they were talking about that made Whitley so upset that she ran away from the Theater  
> ...it derailed from that plan really, really quickly. But even the resulting conversation went through major revisions at least three times.I didn't think there could be a conversation that was more difficult to write than the one between Blake and White back in chapter 14, but I could not have been more wrong. I'm actually really happy with how it turned out, though. 
> 
> As for the whole Ruby and Meloetta thing, well...I'll have that whole story explained in The Musical Archives, which I'll be updating very soon (if I haven't updated it already). :)
> 
> **Up next: Where exactly is Whitley, and what's on her mind?**

**Author's Note:**

> As always, please let me know what you think and if you want to read more of this.


End file.
